Rules of Engagement
by ScottPress
Summary: Harry Potter, raised by his godfather, is the first of the new generation of Marauders. After ten years of absence, he returns to Britain to attend Hogwarts. Common sense didn't sign up for this shit. (Rated M to be on the safe side.)
1. CHAPTER ONE: Operation Warm Welcome

**Disclaimer:** At the top of my profile page. 'Sides, d'ya think I'd be here writing fanfiction of my own work if I owned Harry Potter?

...as a matter of fact, perhaps I would.

**AN:** **THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT - TAKE A MINUTE TO READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE.** "Lesser Evils" is still my priority fanfiction, it's my baby. This is just an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a while. It's one of those catharsis fics where the author corrects everything they perceive to be wrong with canon while making the protagonist a bit of a SI. That said, if you want to read a 'quality', 'ambitious' story, go for "Lesser Evils". RoE will be crazy, sometimes ridiculous and completely over the top. I'm not promising regular updates for this. I'll post as they come along. This is obviously AU, but before someone indignantly points out that the sword of Gryffindor wasn't found until Harry pulled it from a hat in CoS - AU.

**Full Summary:** Remus Lupin became the Secret Keeper in Peter's place. After the events of that tragic Halloween, Sirius is temporarily thrown off his game and instead of charging madly after the traitor, he acts responsibly. In 1991 Harry Potter, raised by his Marauder godfather, comes back to England after a decade of absence to attend the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Common sense didn't sign up for this shit. The people of Wizarding Britain have no idea what they're in for...

_**Rules of Engagement or Selfishness for Advanced**_

_**by Scott_Press**_

**CHAPTER ONE: Operation "Warm Welcome"**

Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"I can't see my face," he announced.

"That's good," Sirius replied. "It means the illusion charms are working. Our faces are supposed to be invisible." He turned to look at his godson.

Harry stared into Sirius' seemingly empty hood, where there was only dark blackness. "Creepy," he decided. "Awesome!"

"You can't see it right now, but I'm grinning," Sirius said enthusiastically. "Gear check, kiddo."

"Right." Harry flexed his wrist and a wand slung into his open palm. He flexed his wrist again and the wand went back inside the wrist holster. "Primary wand, check."

Across from him, Sirius mirrored his motions. He now raised his left hand – Harry did the same. "Secondary wand, check."

Harry nodded and continued, "Weird breathing apparatus gizmo, check," he said, taking a small, cylindrical object from one of the pockets.

"One demiguise fur invisibility cloak, check," Sirius said, patting a pouch strapped to his belt. Harry looked down at his own belt.

"Yeah, it's there," he confirmed. He opened another pouch and peeked inside. "A bucket of paint and a brush, check and check."

"And contact lenses – check."

Harry raised a hand into his hood. "Yes, those. Are you sure they'll hold? I mean, a contact lens is a tiny small thing and you charmed them to point of impossibility."

"They should last seven hours if my calculations are correct," Sirius said. "Then they'll probably melt and disintegrate, but we should have more than enough time."

"Ah, alright then."

"You remember the hand signals?"

Harry raised his hand and started demonstrating the gestures Sirius made up specifically for this occasion. "'Dementor, Dementor!'," he said, "'goddamn Aurors' and 'there's a great sodding sea monster ahead'."

"Good." Sirius nodded with satisfaction. Then he added, "You've become positively vulgar lately."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, but I can't see your face," Sirius said. "Are you raising an eyebrow or something?"

"I am. And I learned to cuss from you, you foul-mouthed jelly-brain aristocrat."

"Oh." Sirius sounded thoughtful. "You may be right."

"Are we going or what?" Harry demanded impatiently.

"Yeah. Hold on – and put the Breather on, we're dropping straight into the ocean."

"You mean the weird breathing apparatus gizmo?" Harry asked, weighing it in his hand.

"Yep."

He put it to his mouth and bit down with his teeth. Instantly, the magic kicked in and he continued to breathe normally, only now with the air was filtered through the Breather.

"Wezz 'lo," he said.

"One last thing," Sirius said and manipulated his watch for a moment before pocketing it. "Mission clock is now zeroed out. Let's go." He raised his own Breather to his mouth. "Hee, hoo, hun, ho!"

Their portkeys activated and they vanished.

~~oOo~~

_Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_

_Thanks for the letter. Yes, I'll come Hogwarts. I hear it's a lot of fun._

_I'm going to have to say no on the 'no brooms for first years' rule. I compete in the International Racing League and I need to keep my skills sharp – and I'll need something better than a school broom for that. Other than that, I'll see you on the first._

_Respectfully,_

_Harry Potter_

Albus put down the letter – or a note, more like – on his desk and looked up at his colleague.

"I only found out now because the acceptance letters are prepared in bulk by the house elves," Minerva McGonagall said. "Is it true? Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts?"

"Correct," the Headmaster said.

"Was he really raised by Sirius Black?"

"Well," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "I don't know much, except that young Mr. Potter has spent most of his life to date either traveling or, my sources say, in various residences around the world-"

"Albus," Minerva said crisply.

"-but it would seem that, indeed, he was raised by his godfather."

"_Merlin_," Minerva exclaimed. "James Potter's son, raised by Sirius Black is coming to Hogwarts."

"I would like to remind you, my dear, that he is also Lily's son," Albus said helpfully.

Minerva glared at him. "Yes, let's add Lily's brilliant intellect to the mix. You're _not_ helping, Albus."

"Ah, but let's not cry over spilled milk when, indeed, no milk has yet been spilled." Dumbledore smiled warmly. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Harry Potter is but a child still. What's the worst that could happen?"

~~oOo~~

_MISSION CLOCK: 00:00:04_

Harry instinctively kicked at the air – which was useless, of course – and then he broke the water surface with the force of a small cannonball.

Thanks to the warming charms woven into his clothes, he felt a pleasant chill instead of the freezing cold of the North Atlantic and the only shock he received was the sudden shift in gravitational pull.

He blinked rapidly to activate the charms on the contact lenses and his vision cleared – he could make out the tiny bubbles of air he was breathing out through the Breather, giving him a sense of up and down. He felt a tap on his shoulder – or as close to one as could be done underwater – and he spun around, coming hood to hood with Sirius.

'You okay?' he signed.

'Yeah,' Harry signaled back. 'Just disoriented.'

'Follow me.'

They swam close to the surface, breathing easily thanks to the Breathers, as they made their way towards the great dark shape looming on the horizon.

Azkaban.

The triangle shaped fortress was made of three walls connecting at sharp angles. Inside the walls, on thirty three levels, three of which were underground, were rows of cells. The enormous walls of the prison – named A, B and C-wings, for simplicity's sake – faced east, north-west and south-west respectively and sat perched upon an otherwise bare rock. The inner space was hollow apart from the Azkaban's staircases – narrow stone walkways connecting various levels of the prison, creating a chaotic web that took weeks to learn to navigate, seeing as there were no signs anywhere. For that reason every Auror stationed at Azkaban carried a broom on their person at all times.

The prison was guarded in many ways – apart from the around-the-clock Auror guard from three countries that shared custody of Azkaban, there were dementors, the wards, extending a good mile in every direction and in the waters surrounding the island lived several less than friendly creatures that the governments had taken great pains in relocating here.

Below the walkways, at the bottom of the pit, was a small, rocky pond. Even though it rarely ceased raining, the water never overflowed it. Wizards, being wizards, did not concern themselves with this apparent anomaly. There was no anomaly, however. The pond was directly connected to the ocean via a long, zigzagging, claustrophobic tunnel. Well, it would be claustrophobic if there was ever anyone stupid enough to try and swim through it.

A little more than a mile away from the island, Harry alerted Sirius that they were getting close to the edge of the wards.

'Alright,' Sirius signed. 'Time to dive down.'

Both he and Harry pressed a rune on their sleeves and the dragon hide body armor they were wearing turned into lead, pulling them down into the depths of the ocean.

Harry watched the digits on the depth-meter change. They were plunging deeper and deeper and yet he felt no different than he had on the surface. He was well aware of the very real possibility of death should the enchantments fail – they were almost a mile underwater now and only magic kept the hydrometric pressure from crushing their bodies. They had emergency portkeys set to activate automatically in case of such failure, however, so he wasn't too worried. Still, the adrenaline pumping through his veins sharpened his senses to near-inhuman levels.

'Sirius! Look!' he signed to his godfather quickly, pointing to a long, slender shadow moving swiftly through the water about a hundred feet away. Thanks to their charmed lenses, they could make out the square-shaped scales.

'I've never,' Sirius signed, 'seen a sea-serpent before.'

Then the depth-meter crossed the one mile threshold and Sirius ordered him to activate another rune.

Harry marveled at his godfather's enchanting skills. Right now, segments of his armor were summoning the water in front of him and banishing the water behind him, allowing him to swim forward without moving a limb apart from steering.

The wards of Azkaban extended a mile in every direction, essentially forming a giant ball of magic, two miles in diameter, whose surface was only broken by the bedrock forming the island. The wards were the strongest above the water level, where it was easy to monitor them. They were still fairly potent about three hundred feet below the surface.

At the moment, Harry and Sirius were next to the foot of the island, _below_ the edge of the ward-bubble. So deep down the magic lost a lot of its power, also because of the magical creatures that inhabited the caverns in the rock. The sea-serpent, for example, being a close cousin of the basilisk, was a powerful magical creature and would set off the wards every time it crossed them, so the excess power was redirected to the upper half of the bubble. In result, the lower edge of the wards was near nonexistent. A few well-placed charms and you could transport any quantity of dark artifacts inside their perimeter.

The two Marauders deactivated the transfiguration rune, turning the body armor back to dragon hide. No longer weighed down by lead, they started quickly ascending.

Harry kept focused on the magic around him. As they rose, the wards' edge grew farther, but the magic grew stronger, so their influence remained the same. He kept glancing at his depth-meter as well. When they hit minus two hundred feet, he urged Sirius to stop. They grabbed at the rock as Harry looked around.

'Can you feel the entrance?' Sirius asked.

'We're close.'

He closed his eyes for a moment and let his own magic touch on any traces of unfamiliar magic around them. His eyes flew open and he looked up. He swam upwards and tried to touch the rock – his hand went right through it.

'Found it.'

The outside entrance to the tunnel under Azkaban was protected only by a simple illusion, masking the mouth of the cave as rock. Sirius watched his godson swim through the seemingly solid surface, much like the gateway to the platform 9 ¾. He recoiled back when Harry's hooded head emerged from behind it.

'You coming or not?' he signed.

They advanced through the tunnel. It quickly became so narrow that they couldn't swim side by side anymore and Sirius took the lead. Even then, they had to move slowly and carefully so as not to impale themselves on of the sharp edges.

Harry felt like they had spent ages in the narrow tunnel before finally emerging in the pond inside Azkaban's walls. They broke the surface slowly, casting nervous glances around. Fortunately, there were no Aurors close by. The lowest walkway was nearly fifty feet above them. Sirius swam up to a smooth stone wall and found the nearest steel-barred window. He tucked the Breather away and whispered, "Harry – over here."

Sirius took out his wand – still waist-deep in water – and transfigured the bars to rubber. He then squatted down and lifted Harry up to the window. Harry easily squeezed himself through the transfigured bars and dropped down on the wet floor inside the cell. The inmate, a frail, thin man looked up at him hopefully.

"Danny?" he asked.

"Sorry, mate," Harry said and stunned him with a quick spell.

"Harry?" Sirius' voice reached him. "Like we practiced – nice and easy."

He took a deep breath and raised his wand. "_Accio Sirius._"

He heard Sirius yelp involuntarily as the magic lifted him up to the window, where he squeezed himself through the rubber bars – with considerably more effort than Harry – and was finally lowered to the floor. He glanced at the unconscious prisoner.

"Ha! Who would've thought."

"You know him?" Harry asked curiously.

Sure. That's Augustus Rookwood."

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed in surprise. "The traitor from the Department of Mysteries?"

"The one and only," Sirius confirmed.

"Well, I hope he dies a very miserable death."

Sirius beamed at him. "Was just thinking the same thing."

~~oOo~~

Rita accepted the official-looking envelope from her owl. It was made of appropriately slick parchment and bore the seal of House Potter – a griffin standing on its hind legs, facing right, pressed in red wax.

She broke the seal and tore the envelope open. She knew what it was – a response to her own letter, asking for an interview with the Boy Who Lived, who had just recently returned to Britain.

She unfolded the letter… and her face broke into a wide grin

_Miss Skeeter,_

it said,

_Why the hell not. I'm available this Friday, between three and four p.m. Go to 269 Headway Drive, London._

_Looking forward to meeting you,_

_Harry Potter_

_P.S. It goes without saying that if you give this address to anyone else, I'll have a team of assassins after you within a day._

_P.P.S. Don't burn your fingers._

As soon as she read the last syllable, the letter burst into flames and moments later a pile of ash was on her desk. She sucked on her thumb where it got burned by the fire. But no matter – he agreed! She then glared at the calendar, wishing time would speed up. Friday couldn't come fast enough.

~~oOo~~

_MISSION CLOCK: 00:35:29_

They stayed in the cell for a good few minutes to dry themselves off and down a vial of Pepperup Potion – the tunnel had exhausted them. Once the second wind kicked in, they both threw the invisibility cloaks over themselves and left the cell. They moved swiftly, but mindful of making noise. They were headed for the nearest walkway – dementors tended to keep to the higher levels of the prison, so the chances of them being discovered by the creatures were low, although Aurors could still detect them.

The walkways were only wide enough to allow two people to walk side by side and had no handrails. Harry and Sirius both cursed soundlessly when they saw a pair of Aurors approaching from the opposite end. They didn't need to see each other or consult – they had agreed what to do in that situation. Harry slipped off of the walkway, hanging only on his fingers, gritting his teeth and waiting for the Aurors to pass. Suddenly, he heard Sirius' voice above him, "Do you need a hand?"

"What? Hell no!" Harry gasped. "What am I, five?"

He swung his legs to and fro and finally, once he gained enough momentum, he heaved himself up with his hands and kicked up with one leg. From there lifting himself back up onto the walkway was easy enough.

"Let's move," he whispered to Sirius.

Once they were inside again – now in the A-wing – Harry pulled back the hood of his invisibility cloak. Sirius did the same and their heads seemed to be floating about freely.

"We're close to the Warden's Office," said Sirius. "It's that way." He pointed with his chin.

"No, it's that way," Harry protested, pointing in the opposite direction.

"No, it's that way!"

"Sirius," Harry said, drumming his knuckles against the wall.

"'Warden's Office'," Sirius read the sign. "Huh. Guess you're right."

They threw the hoods back on and started down the hallway to the south, inevitably bumping into each other from time to time. Eventually they reached the southernmost section of the fortress, where wings A and C touched. Office of the Azkaban's Warden was located on the fourth level – first above the ground – in that south corner. Not the most defensible position, but no one ever accused wizards of common sense.

They quickly stuffed their cloaks into the pouches and Sirius knocked on the door.

"What?" an irritated voice snarled as the door swung open. "I said-"

"Evening, good sir." Sirius grinned and punched the man in the face with his gloved fist while Harry pulled the man's legs from under him. Sirius snapped off a stunner before the Warden even hit the ground. "I'll take care of him," he told his godson. "Get started on the painting."

Harry nodded and took the bucket of luminous pink paint and a brush from his bottomless bag.

Dipping the brush in the paint, he started writing out the letters as quickly as he could. At the same time, Sirius stunned the Warden again for good measure, bound him in ropes and left hid under the desk before rummaging through the drawers in search of the Warden's Key. While each cell could be opened by an individual key assigned to it, the Warden was in possession of a master key, able to open any door in Azkaban, provided that it had a lock.

With the Warden's Key secure in his pocket, he admired Harry's work.

"I must say, there is a certain charm in the crudeness of it."

"I was aiming for my best toddler caligraphy," Harry explained.

"James would be proud," Sirius said with confidence. "Let's move – we have ourselves a prisoner to free."

~~oOo~~

Minerva goggled at Dumbledore.

"Albus," she said pleadingly, "please tell me you're joking."

"Minerva," he said in turn, unmistakably serious. "There is an innocent man in Azkaban. I wouldn't dare joke in such a matter."

"How is this possible?"

"A stroke of luck," the Headmaster began. "I had heard that young Percy Weasley's rat went missing at the end of term, coincidentally around the same time as Sirius and Harry arrived in England. Then, one evening, I was taking a look at something that Argus had brought to my attention." With a flourish, he produced an old piece of parchment from his desk drawer. "He's cleaning out his archive and came across this – he confiscated it from Sirius Black and James Potter shortly before their graduation."

"I know what this is," Minerva said, surprised. "That's the map those two made, along with Lupin and Pettigrew."

"Indeed," Albus confirmed, nodding. "Imagine my surprise when I spotted a familiar name. The name of someone who, by all accounts, should be quite dead."

"So you saw Pettigrew," Minerva concluded. "And contacted Sirius Black."

"I also alarmed the Ministry," Albus added, "but you know how the bureaucrats are. Always dragging everything out."

"That's not good enough reason to ask Black to break someone out of Azkaban!" Minerva snapped.

"I disagree," Dumbledore said. "It's a perfectly good reason. And I didn't ask Sirius to break Remus out. I merely pointed out that it may take time before he Ministry gets off the high horse and does something about it."

~~oOo~~

_MISSION CLOCK: 00:59:02_

He felt himself being whisked away as magic swirled around him, the familiar tug of a portkey. Moments later, the sky was no longer obscured by the heavy, dark clouds that always loomed over Azkaban. The night sky was clear here. He could see the stars.

The broom started a steady descent towards the ground. He held on to the rider and enjoyed the scent of fresh air, breathing in deeply. He hadn't smelled freshness in years.

They landed and he slid off the broom, collapsing to the ground, onto the cold, wet grass. It was still an improvement over cold and wet stone.

"Give him a moment," a familiar voice spoke above. "He'll be alright. Werewolves are tough and he's always been tough even for a werewolf."

"He doesn't look too good," another voice, evidently belonging to a much younger person, said.

"He spent the last decade in one of the most rigorous prisons on the planet," the familiar voice said. "Azkaban diet isn't very healthy, I hear."

He opened his eyes and saw two hooded figures clad in dark clothes and what looked like body armor. He couldn't see their faces.

"Remus fucking Lupin," said the taller one, owner of the familiar voice. "Welcome back."

"We haven't met," said the shorter. "But I think we'll be great friends."

Remus blinked and sat up. "Not that I'm ungrateful," he said slowly, "but who _are_ you?"

"Oh, right!" the shorter one exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "The hoods."

He pulled his back and the taller figure followed his example. Remus's widened in shock as he stared at the older but still recognizable Sirius Black.

"Sirius," he managed to say before the words failed him. He knelt down next to Remus and hugged him fiercely.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"I wouldn't believe me back then," Remus said.

"Turns out that Pettigrew is alive after all," said the boy. "Professor Dumbledore has him locked up, so you'll be a free man in no time."

"You," Remus said, staring at the boy intently, "are James' son."

"Harry Potter," he introduced himself, kneeling as well. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Moony."

Remus caught Harry in a rib-crushing hug and held him for a long moment. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"If you don't let me go you might- ah, you might get your wish," Harry gasped.

"Sorry," Remus said, releasing Harry. "Guess I forgot about my own strength in prison."

"If you're _weak_ now," Harry said, massaging his ribs, "then I'll ask you to refrain from hugs once we get you to pre-Azkaban state."

"Here," Sirius said, tossing Remus a pair of boots. "Put those on and I'll help you up. Harry, get the brooms, will you?"

Only now did Remus notice where they were exactly. "Hogwarts," he whispered. "We're at Hogwarts?"

"Safest place for you to be right now," Sirius told him. "Who do you think caught Pettigrew? Dumbledore, of course. Harry and I have only been back for a few weeks and we spent most of that getting settled in."

"You were out of Britain?"

"I have never been to Britain before," said Harry.

"What do you mean, never?"

"We've always lived elsewhere. Europe, mostly. We have a sweet place in the Alps."

"You could say we've been all over the world, Moony," Sirius explained. "I wanted Harry as far away from the Ministry as possible."

"The world is a big place. We weren't bored."

"But… didn't you miss home?" Remus asked.

"Not really," Sirius answered. "Like Harry said, we kept ourselves occupied. And for Harry, Britain isn't home. Not really."

"I'm coming to Hogwarts though. Sirius said I didn't have to, but I was curious, so… we're here."

"Yeah, and as soon as word got around that we were in the country, we were contacted by Dumbledore. We met with him and he told us about Pettigrew."

"So we got you out."

Remus froze. "Wait- I've just realized that you were both in Azkaban!"

"Well, _duh_," Harry said, tilting his head to the side.

"Sirius," Remus growled. "Are you out of your mind? You took a child to Azkaban with you!"

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I'll have you know that _I_ figured out how to get past the wards! _And_ I composed the limerick!"

"You're indignant, Remus," Sirius said nonchalantly, "because you're thinking about Harry in categories of other, normal children. But Harry here – he's no normal kid. He's a _Marauder_." Sirius said it like it was an answer to any follow up question Remus might think to ask.

"Thank you!" Harry agreed. "I'm not some whining little bitch."

Remus stared at Harry for a moment before turning back to Sirius. "_Of course_ he swears. He lives with _you_."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Sirius said. "It hurts, Moony. Right in the heart, it does." He struck himself in the chest to emphasize his point.

Remus groaned. "Let's just go – wherever we're going."

"Sirius said something about the Evil Queen of Medicine," Harry remarked.

"One moment." Remus remembered something. "What _limerick_?"

~~oOo~~

There was a knock on the oaken door. Dumbledore looked up and smiled.

"It would seem our guests are here."

The door opened to allow two people – a boy and a man – dressed in similar outfits and body armor. They both looked tired, but happy.

"Sirius," the Headmaster greeted. "It's a pleasure to see you again. And you too, Harry."

"Hi, Professor. And hello Professor McGonagall," said the boy and immediately redirected his attention to the room. "Nice place." He whistled with appreciation.

"Thank you, Harry." Dumbledore beamed at him.

"Professor," Sirius addressed his former Head of House. "Long time no see."

"Certainly, Sirius," she replied. "It's uh, good to see you're well."

"Hey, Professor!" Harry said excitedly. "Can I see this?" He was knocking at the crystal case holding the sword of Gryffindor.

"Well…"

"He knows how to handle a blade," Sirius offered. "Swordsmanship is something of a family tradition for Blacks. And Harry is as much a Black as I am."

Minerva was giving Albus a significant _look_.

"Why not," Dumbledore agreed cheerfully. "But do be careful, Harry – it's a priceless relic." He tapped the lid with his wand, took the sword and handed it to Harry, who grasped the hilt two-handed and twirled the weapon around.

"It's awesome," he declared.

He went to the center of the room and proceeded to make jabs and feints at an imaginary foe while Albus chatted pleasantly with his former student.

"I assume Remus is in Poppy's capable hands?"

"Yes, she's fussing over him right now," Sirius said.

"We've received a letter today," Albus continued. "Harry has decided to attend Hogwarts, then."

"Far be it from me to tell him where to go to school." Sirius grinned. "He's a very independent person. That reminds me – he's in the Racing League and he needs to practice, so…"

"Ah yes, the broom issue." The Headmaster nodded. "We've had some young League competitors in the past. The last one was, I believe, Harry's father."

"Really?" Sirius looked surprised. "I thought broom racing was becoming more popular these days."

"It appears that we British still prefer good old quidditch."

"So, about that broom…"

"If I recall correctly, James used to have his practices overseen by Rolanda during his first year. If she agrees to do the same for Harry, I don't see why he shouldn't be allowed to use a personal broom during those practices only."

"Brilliant." Sirius grinned. "I should probably check up on Remus. If Harry wants to go home earlier, it's alright. We have a secure Floo connection."

"I think I'll see Remus as well," Minerva said. In truth, she just wanted to be as far away from the boy with the sword as possible.

Once they were alone, Harry returned Gryffindor's sword to Dumbledore.

"Tell me, Harry," said the Headmaster. "Are you feeling up to a tour of Hogwarts?"

"The Pepperup still hasn't worn off, so why not?" he replied. "Let me just take this stuff off."

He tapped the segments of his armor one by one and they unstrapped and unbuckled themselves. Once he was free of it, he turned back to Dumbledore.

"So," he began, "I've heard a lot of stories about the Astronomy Tower…"

Albus' eyes twinkled gleefully. "A fine choice, Harry. Yes, the Astronomy Tower has a rich history of being used for purposes that had very little if anything in common with Astronomy…"

~~oOo~~

"Sir… there's a problem," the Auror said to his superior. "One of the prisoners-"

"Is missing," the Warden snapped. "Yes, I know. Remus Lupin. You're the third person to tell me that."

The Auror now noticed what the Warden was looking at.

"Sir- what _is_ this?"

"Trouble, Creswell," the Warden said gloomily.

The bright shade of pink it was made the paint stand out against the room's dark color scheme.

_It took us a day to cook up a plan_

_How to break-in to Azkaban_

_Disguised by the dark_

_Without leaving a mark_

_We did it and it was fun_


	2. CHAPTER TWO: Operation Troublemaker

**AN: **Apart from this entire fic being one giant tribute to nonjon's ever-awesome "Black Comedy", there's a reference to it in this chapter.

**CHAPTER TWO: Operation "Troublemaker"**

One of Harry's eyebrows rose from behind his sunglasses.

"Surely you jest."

"Nope. That's the visitors' entrance," Sirius said.

"A phone booth? Whose stupid idea was that?"

Sirius leaned in. "Probably someone from the Goblin Liaison Office."

Harry looked on skeptically.

"Because, you know, they're all small buggers. You can't be more than five foot five to work there."

"Where's the VIP entrance?" Harry wondered. "I'm the Boy Who Lived. I'm famous. I should be allowed to use the VIP entrance."

"Well, one other entrance is via Floo, but you have to work at the Ministry to get yours hooked up to their internal system… or you can use the toilet."

"The… toilet?" Harry repeated.

"Yeah, you have to stand in it and-"

"Let's take the phone booth," Harry said quickly and opened the door.

They both went inside and Sirius dialed six-two-four-four-two. The booth shook and they started descending. A cool, professional female voice came at them from the speaker.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and purpose."

"Sirius Black, I'm here to set right a terrible injustice!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Harry Potter." Harry didn't feel he had any particular purpose here and 'I'm just tagging along' sounded silly in his head.

The phones spit out two badges. Sirius pinned his on right away.

"'Sirius Black, Righter of Wrongs Number 983674831'," Harry read aloud.

Sirius frowned. "What does yours say?"

"'Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived'." He beamed at Sirius. "Hey, I really _am_ famous!"

"Yours sounds better," Sirius complained. "That's not fair – you didn't even say anything."

"What can I say – I'm a national hero-" he stopped because the booth shook again and stopped.

"So, this is the Ministry of Magic," Harry said, looking around. "Why does it look like a glorified sewer?"

"Probably because it used to be a sewer," Sirius explained.

"Why is everyone staring at us?"

"Muggle fashion isn't popular in magical Britain. And I don't think those folks know what sunglasses are. Wizard use spells for that, or charm normal glasses."

Harry snorted quietly. "Primitives."

They found the nearest free clerk. "Okay, who do I have to sleep with around here to book an appointment with the Minister of Magic?" Sirius said loudly to – or rather at – the young woman.

She looked at him crossly. "There's no need for such language, sir," she said, offended.

"We're in the seat of the government, sweetheart." Sirius swept his hand in an arc behind him. "There is _every_ need."

The receptionist clearly wanted to argue, but then her eyes found his badge. "You're Sirius Black?"

Sirius poked his badge. "It says so here, so I suppose I am."

"Oh!" She looked at Harry. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Word gets around fast."

"The Minister specifically instructed to forward you to his office if you showed up," the receptionist babbled excitedly. "Someone will be here shortly to escort you."

Harry and Sirius shared a look.

"That was easy."

An Auror came and led them through the atrium and further into the Ministry, to the area housing the Minister's office. They passed another pair of Aurors, escorting a frothing wizard out of the building.

"I had an appointment!" he yelled. "I've waited months – months! – to see Minister Fudge and suddenly I'm thrown out because some _child_ _celebrity_ came back?"

"Oddly enough, I don't feel bad about that," Harry confessed. "Does that make me a bad person, Sirius?"

The elder Marauder shook his head with conviction. "Guilt is for the little people," he opined philosophically.

The Auror led them to a pair of heavy double doors, indicating that the Minister's office was behind them. Sirius eagerly pushed them open.

"Misters Potter and Black" Fudge's personal assistant perked up. "The Minister will be with you in a moment."

The inner doors swung open revealing two men. They couldn't be more different from each other. One was tall and cast a charismatic, commanding aura around him. His sharp features in tandem with the immaculate dark robes screamed 'fear me, bitches!'.

The other man was short, portly, with a round face and was dressed in a cloak with horizontal stripes that did nothing to hide his considerable gut.

The short one shook the tall one's hand with fervor. "Thank you for your generosity Lucius, it's much appreciated."

"Think nothing of it, Cornelius."

"Wait a minute." Harry goggled at the duo, drawing their attention. He pointed at the short man. "_That's_ the British Minister for Magic? Who's the blond then?"

Sirius had an unnatural grin on his face. "That's Lucius Malfoy, Harry. Be nice."

"It is very rude to point, young man," the Minister said sourly. Harry didn't pay him much attention seeing as he was holding on to the receptionist's desk at the moment.

"Lucius!" Sirius exclaimed, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. "It's been too long!"

"Not long enough, Black," Malfoy replied sharply. Fudge blinked in surprise.

"Mister Black!" He looked at Harry, still gasping for breath. "Mister _Potter_! Allow me to welcome you back to fair Britain-"

"Ah, thanks, Dumbledore already did that," Sirius said cheerfully.

Lucius looked at Sirius as if he were looking upon a particularly slimy slug. "It's been a pleasure, Cornelius," he said, now scrutinizing the Boy Who Lived, "but I must go. Businesses don't run themselves."

"Oh, of course, Lucius, of course." Fudge nodded in understanding. "Liam, tea for Mister Black and Mister Potter."

"Actually," Harry wheezed, trying to even out his breathing, "I'll have some orange juice. Smooth – I hate the bits."

Liam the receptionist rolled his eyes and scurried out towards the cafeteria.

The Minister's office was lavishly decorated and full of trinkets. Harry thought it was a poor imitation of Professor Dumbledore's office. There was a controlled chaos there that was weirdly ordered and pleasant to look at. This place was just full of expensive but mismatched furniture and various souvenirs.

"Gentlemen," Fudge began, "let me express my great pleasure at the opportunity to meet you in person. Your return to the country has been in every media outlet out there."

"Yeah, I liked the Quibbler article," Harry put in. "'Piss-poor excuse for national hero decides to grace the British shores with his hardly desired presence'."

"Quibbler," Fudge shuddered. "I ought to have closed it down years ago…"

"What? No!" Harry protested. "I said I liked what they wrote. It was a pleasant change from the praises in the Daily Prophet."

"Harry's a bit of an eccentric," Sirius offered by way of explanation. "You know how these famous kids are."

"Sorry? Did you say something Sirius?" Harry asked distractedly, stuffing something into an inner pocket of his jacket.

Their drinks arrived and the office was silent for a moment as the three of them tasted the beverages.

"Now, let's get down to business," Sirius said finally. "We're actually here for a very important reason."

"I'm sure, of course," Fudge agreed. "I apologize for the mess, the morning's been hectic. There was a break-in at Azkaban, you see… a high priority prisoner escaped- just awful."

"Really?" Harry inquired. "A break-in? Who escaped?"

Fudge looked at him apologetically. "You see, Mister Potter… this is quite a delicate matter. I would hate to upset you-"

"That's actually why we're here," Sirius jumped in, patting his pocket. "That break-in wasn't a break-in."

Fudge blinked. Then he blinked again. "Pardon me?"

"It was an extraction," Sirius explained. "There is evidence that proves Remus Lupin's innocence."

The Minister just stared, doing a fine fish impression.

"Peter Pettigrew is alive and kicking," Harry elaborated. "We hate bureaucracy, so we took the liberty of liberating Mister Lupin."

"I- I-" Fudge stammered.

"We would hate to take up any more of your valuable time," Sirius said. "It's alright, we'll see ourselves out."

"If you could pull some strings to make sure the trial takes place before the weekend, that'd be great," Harry added. "You see, I have the French Grand Prix this Sunday, but we have to be there on Saturday for the training session."

"We'll be on our way. Cheers!" Sirius saluted the Ministerbefore they used Fudge's private Floo to leave the Ministry. "Albus Dumbledore's office, Hogwarts!"

As soon as they landed in the high-ceilinged room, Sirius said to Harry, "Alright, what did you get?"

"You first," Harry replied with a gleam in his eye.

Sirius plunged an arm into his Bottomless Pocket and drew out an intricately carved statue of a hippogriff.

"Pff," Harry mocked him. "A paperweight?"

"What do you have, smart-ass?"

Harry pulled out a brass cup the size of his chest and set it on the desk with a thunk. Sirius stared at it in astonishment.

"'Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Third Place, Middle Dueling League, 1965'," Harry read the inscription. "I think," he added, "I won."

Sirius glared at his godson briefly and then let out a melodramatic sigh. "You're getting entirely too good at this, kid."

"If it's any consolation," Harry offered, patting Sirius on the arm, "I learned from the best."

"I'll be consoled next time _I_ win," Sirius said with a superior sniff.

"Ha! Keep dreaming, Black."

The door opened and Albus Dumbledore walked in.

"Hello, Harry, Sirius."

"Hello, Professor," they said in unison.

"Interesting," the Headmaster mused aloud. "I remember that Cornelius had a paperweight like this…" His gaze fell upon the cup and his eyes widened in surprise.

Harry quickly stuffed the cup back into his Bottomless Pocket and Sirius did the same with the paperweight.

"What's up?" Harry said amicably.

"Do you wish me to pretend I didn't see that?" Dumbledore asked tentatively.

"Didn't see what?" Sirius asked politely.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously. "What indeed?"

~~oOo~~

The two Marauders strode up the sun-bathed Diagon Alley with no particular purpose in mind. Suddenly, Harry's head snapped to the side. "Sirius," he said. "Let's buy some ice cream."

"Why not."

They sat down in Flrean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and ordered the biggest dessert the man had to offer, plus orange juice (smooth) for Harry and a cold Butterbeer for Sirius. They were just getting started on their ice cream when a familiar drawl reached them. "Black. It seems we're bumping into each other all day today."

They both looked up to see Lucius Malfoy, still dressed in black in the Alley's heat. To his right was a younger version of Lucius, wearing an identical scowl.

"Hello, Lucy," Sirius replied mockingly. "How's business? Do you still micromanage every tiniest detail by yourself?"

"Yes, because, you know," Harry chimed in, "these days, you _delegate_ people to handle that stuff."

"And then you're left to wonder where all the money went," Lucius threw back.

"I can tell you haven't had luck with hiring people in the past, Lucius. Do you think that might be because you're such a stuck-up asshole?"

Malfoy's nostrils flared with anger. Harry shared a secret glance with Sirius.

"I suppose this novel idea of letting strangers handle your finances is something out of the _muggle_ _world_?" he spat out.

"It works quite marvelously, too," Sirius confirmed. "Hey, you – Lucius version two-point-oh. Are you mute?"

"My name is Draco Malfoy," the boy drawled, perfectly imitating his father. "Peasant."

"Sirius," Harry interrupted the budding argument, "Didn't you say Malfoys were all pale-faced frauds without a shred of moral decency?"

"To be fair, Harry," Sirius pointed out, "we're not exactly great paragons of virtue either."

"Yeah, but at least we're honest about it," Harry replied.

"Typical," Lucius declared. "And to think you're both scions of prominent purebloods families. Such disgrace…"

"At least Black is a real pureblood, for how low he's fallen, father," Draco commented. "But Potter is the son of a mudblood _whore_."

Harry's eyes narrowed as anger rose in him.

"Draco!" Lucius looked at his son sharply. "This kind of language is below you-"

"Oh, you did _not_ just go there," Harry hissed acidly.

"I think he did," Sirius said matter-of-factly, quickly relocating their ice-cream to another table in anticipation of what he knew was coming.

Harry bolted upright, launching himself off of their table, upending it, and landing on Draco, knocking him down. Sirius, seeing Lucius going for his wand, threw out a punch and went for his own, disarming the Malfoy patriarch.

Meanwhile, Harry was shaking Draco by the lapels of his cloak. "-you rat-faced little shit!"

Sirius was suddenly inspired and levitated Harry's unfinished sundae within his reach. "Here, use this."

Harry needed no encouragement. Grabbing a handful of ice-cream, he started stuffing it up Draco's nostrils and ears, seeing no point in _feeding_ him damn good ice-cream.

Once Draco looked properly humiliated, Sirius – not without effort – pried Harry off of the other boy and cleaned him up with a few flicks of his wand, ignoring the small crowd that had gathered to watch the brawl.

"In my defense," Harry growled, "_they_ started it."

"And for once, it's actually true," Sirius muttered. He tossed Lucius his wand, saying, "Sorry about that. Harry – he has anger management issues. He's been seeing his therapist for years now- ah, you know how it is."

With that, they were gone, leaving the two Malfoys beaten and bruised in the middle of Diagon Alley. Lucius' fury was only fueled by cameras flashing. He gathered himself up and vanished the ice-cream from Draco's face and robes, silently promising terrible revenge.

~~oOo~~

"Are you quite sure, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked.

"Are you _mad_ Sirius?" Lupin demanded. "Look, I appreciate what you've done for me, but going into the Ministry and confessing you've broken into Azkaban-"

"It'll be fine." Sirius waved off their concerns. "Fudge doesn't look like one of those intelligent people."

"Perhaps not, but he's _very_ good friends with Lucius Malfoy," the Headmaster pointed out. "The same man, who, I believe, has probably sworn bloody vengeance by now, seeing as it's already afternoon."

"Look – I've spent the last ten years stepping on the toes of people more powerful and much scarier than Lucius Malfoy. And recently, Harry's been helping. I'd like to see them try to pull one over us."

"You're not taking this seriously-"

"Bah," Sirius interrupted. "Serious is my name, haven't you noticed? It's just spelled differently."

Lupic palmed his face. "Sirius-"

"Shush!" Sirius silenced him. "Here he comes."

He stared intently at a quickly growing dot at the horizon. Within moments, the dot wasn't a dot anymore, but a life-sized Harry Potter, squeezing all he could out of his new Nimbus 2000. The moment he zipped past them, Sirius pressed a button on his stopwatch.

"He shaved off another half second," Sirius announced proudly. "I predict he'll leave the competition behind in France this weekend."

"I predict Lucius Malfoy will have your hide," Lupin said worriedly.

"Not before the Grand Prix," Sirius said distractedly, staring intensely at the stopwatch.

"Ah, yes, Harry competes in the Racing League," Dumbledore said.

"He's been in the top five for three years straight and won third place in the last two championships."

"An amazing accomplishment, for someone so young," the Headmaster said with appreciation.

"Not really," Sirius disagreed, "when the top five has stayed the same for the last three years and so has the champion two years running. And it's the Junior League – they're all young there. In fact, it's Harry's last season in the Juniors. He'll be competing in the Middle Leagues next year."

"Indeed?" said Dumbledore. For all his knowledge, he didn't know much about the International Racing League. He was still British and the British loved quidditch. Broom racing wasn't a very popular sport on the Isles. "Does he compete in any other… Leagues?"

"He's entering the Junior Dueling League this semester," Sirius said absent-mindedly. At that moment, Harry came around again, it seemed, even faster than the last time.

"Same," Sirius muttered, as Harry slowed down and landed nearby.

"It's a good broom," he declared, resting the Nimbus on his shoulder. "But it was made for quidditch, not racing. It can take turns like you wouldn't believe, but acceleration is painful. Great for tight maneuvers, not so great for leaving the opponents smelling your farts."

"Language, Harry," Dumbledore chided gently. "You'll have to watch yourself when school starts."

"Sorry, Professor," he said, without sounding the least bit sorry. "I promised Hagrid I'd drop by. Is it okay if I stay with him for dinner?"

"Sure," said Sirius. "Just remember, Hagrid likes big, nasty beasts."

"I won't do anything you wouldn't do," Harry promised, grinning. "By the way, has Sirius told you about that time he woke up in the chimpanzee cage in the Berlin Zoo covered in-"

"Yeah, that's enough from you," Sirius interrupted sternly.

"What about that time you released an octopus into a hotel pool?" Harry tried again. "That one's not embarrassing - much. If you leave out the fact that-"

"Alright, off with you, kid," Sirius grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around in the general direction of gamekeeper's hut. "Have fun with Hagrid."

Harry hopped on the Nimbus again and flew off.

"I, for one, would like to hear that story," Dumbledore said, bemused. "An octopus in a pool?"

"Yes, that sound like something you would do," Remus added.

"I suppose there's no harm in telling." Sirius shrugged. "I always say that you can't be a Marauder if you can't laugh at yourself."

"You only say that," Lupin pointed out, "because you have a tendency to get drunk and wake up naked in various locations that aren't your bed."

"Well," Sirius replied, "I need to have _some_ flaws. Pure perfection would get boring fast."

Lupin laughed heartily at that. "Dammit, I missed you, Padfoot."

~~oOo~~

Harry straightened his dress robes and patted his hair.

"Blond doesn't suit me, Sirius," he stated.

"Shhhh!" Sirius silenced him. "They'll be here any minute!"

"I'm never disguising myself with blond hair _ever_ again. I look stupid."

Sirius regarded him critically. "Yes. Yes, you do."

Harry scowled. "You don't have to be mean about it."

"Stop pouting, Harry."

"I am not pouting," Harry pouted.

Sirius glared at him intensely. "Get ready," he said and stepped out onto the street. He bumped into a middle aged pair, drawing their attention. "Ah, forgive me, I'm so clumsy-"

Harry drew his wand and whispered, "_Stupefy_!", aiming at the woman, who promptly tumbled to the ground. Her partner's head whipped about and the second he turned from Sirius, he caught a stunner in the back himself.

Sirius levitated the unconscious pair into an alley and pointed his wand at them. "_Accio invitations_." Two folded pieces of parchment flew at him, which he deftly caught.

"'Malfoy Summer Ball'," he read. "Right. Got them."

Harry pocketed one and they left the alley to stop the next carriage. Sirius stunned their unfortunate victims again just in case and cast a Confundus Charm on each of them before joining Harry in the carriage.

Harry drew out his own pocket watch. "Mission clock is ticking… now."

The carriage transported them through the town from the Floo station to the front staircase of Malfoy Manor. Harry gave a whistle of appreciation. "Malfoys are twats, but they have a nice place."

"Yeah, I'll give them that," Sirius agreed. "But the Manor was built hundreds of years ago, when the Malfoys weren't yet a bunch of snobs with broomsticks up their asses."

"Oh?" Harry seemed genuinely surprised. "I thought Malfoys were always like that."

"Well, yes," Sirius said conversationally, "but back then everyone was a stuck up snob, so they didn't stand out. But the world moved on and Malfoys are still unbelievable pillocks."

They climbed up the marble staircase and approached the door, where they were greeted by a servant who asked to see their invitations.

"Baron and Baroness Preston," the man said, raising an eyebrow. "It appears that-" he broke off after Sirius caught him with a Confundus Charm, casting from his sleeve. "- everything is in order. Please, enter and enjoy the party."

"Bollocks," Harry muttered. "We should have expected the invitations to be assigned to individual people."

"No worries," Sirius said from the corner of his mouth. "Just smile and be polite until we find the library."

Harry's face instantly broke into an ostentatious grin. "Right. Any idea which way it is?"

"None whatsoever," Sirius answered and valiantly plunged into the crowd.

~~oOo~~

"-and then they made James their chief," Remus finished recounting the tale of the Marauders' trip to the Caribbean after graduating Hogwarts.

"Yes, yes. _Yes_!" Hagrid bellowed, slamming his glass on the table. He nodded eagerly several times and promptly fell back off his stool, causing the entire hut to tremble. Fang, broken out of his nap, lifted its head, looked around and went back to sleep. Remus stared at the half-giant, thanking silently the powers that be for his superhuman metabolism. His wolfish nature not only gave him superior strength and senses, but also made it impossible for him to get honestly drunk.

There was a knocking sound. Remus located the source and spotted an owl perched on the windowsill outside. Not trusting his magic in his inebriated state, he manually opened the window to let the bird in.

The owl dropped an official looking letter into his hands and immediately left. The seal proclaimed the letter to have been sent from the office of the Minister of Magic. Intrigued, Remus opened it and got to reading.

_Dear Mister Lupin,_

_In light of the incontrovertible proof of your innocence, delivered to me this afternoon by Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, etcetera, I would like to inform you that the Ministry recognizes its mistake and the terrible injustice done to you._

_In accordance to the agreement proposed by yourself, you are hereby declared innocent and a free man, on conditions that you relinquish the right to monetary reparations legally owed you by the state and refrain from giving interviews and making statements that would present the Ministry in a negative light. We found to reason to expose you to the stress of a court trial. I wish you a quick recovery and hope you enjoy your freedom to the fullest._

_Sincerely,_

_Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic_

"Huh?" Remus commented intelligently. "I don't remember any kind of _agreement_…"

Then it occurred to him that it was probably another of Sirius' ideas and well – he couldn't really complain, could he? He was a free man.

Downing the rest of his drink, he decided he could _talk_ to Sirius about making life-changing decisions on his behalf once the alcohol was out of his system.

~~oOo~~

_MISSION CLOCK: 00:11:16_

"I hope you're enjoying the party, Sirius. Also, I feel compelled to point out that blond really isn't your color, Harry."

"That's what I said!" Harry threw his hands up. "But, _no_-"

"Harry!" Sirius hissed. "I meant John. Shut up, John and stop breaking our cover."

Dumbledore leaned in and spoke conspiratorially, "Apologies. I had no idea you were undercover."

"Did you think we were invited?" Sirius asked, deadpan. "After today, not likely."

"Well, the invitations could have been sent earlier," the Headmaster pointed out.

"He's got a point, Sir- George. We haven't checked the mailbox in a few days."

"So, who are you disguised as?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"Just two random guys in fashionable dress robes," Sirius replied. "I'm George and he," he stuck his thumb out at Harry, "is John."

"George Washington and John Adams, to be specific," Harry clarified. "Sirius is very proud of himself that he remembered the names of two of the Founding Fathers of the United States, which is probably the only thing relating to history he'll ever remember."

"That's not true," Sirurs protested. "I remember- the Statute of Secrecy! They wrote it in… sixteen eighty- something and legislated it in sixteen eighty-something."

"Sixteen ninety two," Harry supplied.

"That's right!" Sirius agreed. "Sixteen eighty two!"

"Ninety," Harry corrected again.

Dumbledore chuckled slightly. "I don't think Lucius Malfoy is too well acquainted with American history, so I suspect you should be safe."

"Great," Sirius said. "Do you have any idea where Malfoys keep their books?"

Dumbledore tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You'll have to be more precise than that. There is hardly a room in this house where there aren't books."

"A lot of books," Sirius specified.

"He means the library," Harry said. "Sirius avoids saying 'library' whenever he can."

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why is that?"

"I'm just being safe," Sirius explained hastily. "I'm risking enough tonight, going into an actual- book storage place."

"I believe," Dumbledore said, "that the main library, housing the most precious tomes, is located in the west wing. What book are you looking for? Perhaps I have it in my collection. I'd be happy to lend it to you. After all," he added, "borrowing things from people without their knowledge or permission is generally frowned upon despite being amusing."

"We're not looking for any specific books," Sirius told him. "Just the l- lovely book keeping room."

"Ah." Dumbledore seemed to be catching on. "Still, Lucius possesses many precious tomes… if you could restrain your art to the floor and windows, Harry…"

"Oh!" Harry said excitedly. "Have you seen the one in…" He looked around to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "Er, the North Atlantic?"

"I didn't have the time yet, regretfully," Dumbledore said. "But I heard they were having trouble removing it, so perhaps I'll make it tomorrow."

"If you can't, we took pictures," Harry confessed. "We're sending them to the Quibbler first thing in the morning, while the topic is still catchy."

"It's time to go, Harry," Sirius insisted. "The mission clock is ticking and we haven't moved beyond the reception hall."

~~oOo~~

Remus sat at Hagrid's table, an arm under his chin and was lazily jabbing the wand borrowed from Dumbledore at an empty glass, making it roll to and fro until a particularly loud snore from Hagrid broke him out of the semi-sleep and he sat up straight. Feeling an unexpected surge of energy, he glanced out the window. The sky was a dark shade of blue, indicating it would be getting dark soon. Beyond Hagrid's pumpkin yard he saw the trees of the Forbidden Forest – tall and straight.

He stood up and nudged Fang with his shoe. The enormous dog opened one eye.

"Come on, Fang," Remus said. "Let's take a walk. I haven't been in the Forest in ages."

At the mention of the Forest, Fang covered his head with the forepaws and whimpered quietly.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Remus insisted, searching the room for something. "A-ha!" he exclaimed triumphantly, locating Hagrid's crossbow. It wasn't as heavy as he had thought.

"Get up, you lazy drool factory," Remus said and opened the door. "We're going to get down to the lake and visit Doug."

Fang didn't look any more enthusiastic than a moment before.

"We go," Remus rolled out the big guns, "or I'm going to wake up Hagrid and ask him to take us to the Acromantulas' pit."

Fang was out of the door faster than one could say 'arachnid'.

~~oOo~~

_MISSION CLOCK: 00:16:47_

The library was, as the rest of Malfoy Manor, enormous, intimidating and, Harry had to admit, rather pleasant to look at. Personally, he preferred a modern, minimalistic décor, but the wooden paneling, checkered marble floor and ceiling-high windows created a nice picture.

The room was round, eighty feet in diameter, almost as high, with a huge – round – table in the middle and gigantic bookcases that covered most of wall space, apart from three windows. Along the tops of the bookshelves run a circular rail to which a high ladder was attached. The ladder, rather obviously, had wheels. Considering that the rail made a complete circle, Harry obviously wondered if one could ride the ladder around the room.

Sirius sized up the huge table, deciding it would make for a perfect canvas. But first… everyone was at the party, so they might as well look around.

"Wheeeeee!" Harry squealed in delight, holding on to the ladder with one hand and using his right leg to propel himself faster, kicking off the shelves. Sirius waited until he was at the other side of the room and used the opportunity to snatch the first book that caught his eye. He opened it and something resembling a banshee wail filled the cavernous room.

Harry started and lost his balance and grip, tumbling to the floor…

…to stop abruptly two inches above it and then being dumped unceremoniously from that safe height. Sirius slammed the book shut and put it back.

"And that is why," Harry opined indignantly, "you should not be allowed in libraries anywhere."

"You forgot to mention my Eastern Hemisphere Lifetime Book-Keeping-Place Ban," Siriurs muttered to himself, completely unfazed and pulled out another book.

"Oh wait a second!" Harry exclaimed. "I almost forgot – you're banned from entering any library in the _entire_ _eastern_ _hemisphere_ because you set fire to the Alexandrian Archives!"

"Let me remind you again, dear godson, that it was an accident," Sirius answered, undeterred. He opened another book. It didn't scream, but it started playing an exotic melody. Sirius snorted and wanted to put it away when Harry snatched it out of his hands.

"That's a nice beat," he declared. "You can dance to it."

"Dance what, exactly?" Sirius, as the scion of a proper pureblood family, had had to endure dance lessons in his youth. And because he was a vindictive bastard, he made Harry learn too. And then Harry had to ruin it by liking dancing. "Not to mention the lack of readily available dance partners… I love you, kiddo, but I'm not gonna dance with you."

But Harry wasn't listening to him, instead shuffling about the room in the universally accepted version of the Egyptian walk, jerking out his arms at unnatural angles.

Sirius drew his wand and assumed the pose of a Talented Wizard Making Magic Look Easy. "Harry," he said, "I need you here. This is a lot of books, you know."

Harry ceased his Egyptian dance and moved to close the book. "Huh," he muttered, looking at the cover. "'Walk Like An Egyptian: A Guide to Ancient Egyptian Ritual Dances'. Amusing." He then stood next to Sirius and drew out his primary wand, ten and three-quarter inches of – according to Gregorovitch the Wandmaker – a mysterious kind of timber that wouldn't burn in his fireplace, wrapped around a feather of a particularly snobbish hippogriff.

"You can't do the Summoning Charm on that scale yet, so just help me guide them. _Accio books_!"

Sirius held a flap of his jacket open, wand in the free hand and one by one, Lucius' prized book collection came hurtling towards it and the Pocket swallowed them all, never bulging. It took almost seven minutes for the thousands of tomes to relocate themselves from the shelves. Once their job was done, Harry drew something from his own Bottomless Pocket and placed it on the table.

It was a neatly folded piece of parchment.

"I do hope Lucius will like our thank you note," Sirius wondered. "After all, it's awfully nice of him to give us his books as a homecoming present."

"Well, if doesn't, he can stick it in his-"

"Stop!" Sirius shrieked. "I'm in a library, Harry. I can't listen about Lucius' orifices in here."

"…"

"Just wait 'till we're outside."

"You said 'library'."

~~oOo~~

After dropping off the books in Grimmauld Place – Kreacher was still hard at work, trying to turn it into a habitable space so Sirius could move in – they decided to check on Remus at Hogwarts.

They were walking along the lake from the gates when Harry spotted a bright spot gliding quickly over the water. The moon was bright, but it was hard to see what it was from distance. Harry pulled out a pair of Omniculars from the Bottomless Pocket and Sirius followed his example – they never left the house without their Bottomless Pockets and a pair of Omniculars.

Harry switched to nightvision and directed the binoculars at the faintly glowing point. He regretted it instantly – the light was still enough to blind him. He switched back to normal and increased brightness.

"Is that… Moony?" Harry asked, flabbergasted.

It sure looked like Moony.

Like Moony-surfing-across-the-lake-with-no-visible-mean s-of-support, wand hand outstretched in front of him in a masculine pose and shining with the light of the Light Charm.

"_How_ is he doing this?" Harry demanded, jumping in place. "I wanna do it!"

"Oh, he's standing on top of the giant squid," Sirius explained, as if he saw that kind of thing everyday. In his defense, he and Harry did crazy stuff on almost daily basis. "He's been drinking Firewhiskey again."

"You told me werewolves can't get drunk."

"Not hangover-worthy or stumbling-and-vomiting drunk, no," Sirius confirmed. "As you can see, he maintains perfect balance on top of Doug - that's the squid's name - cruising at top speed. He can get drunk enough to get stupid ideas."

"You mean this," Harry said, pointing, "wasn't originally something _you_ suggested during dad's stag night or something?" Sirius had suggested a lot of things in his state of drunken delight that night.

"Nope." Sirius said. "This one's on Moony. He _is_ a werewolf," he added. "And he was a Marauder. Still is, apparently. That's really heartwarming to know."

"What does being a werewolf have to do with it?"

"Well… since he could never get drunk enough to not be able to get up, when me or Prongs thought of something, Moony was usually the one to test it. Unless," he lifted a finger, "it involved broomstick flying or females. Remus was always such a shy, gentle soul and flying was Prongs' department."

"Gentle soul?" Harry asked incredulously. "Werewolf?"

"He's only a bloodthirsty monster a few hours every twenty-eight days or so," Sirius said with a shrug. "Most of the time you just want to hug him and pat him on the head."

"But you always said that, and I quote, 'that backstabbing bastard Lupin could kick ass, I'll give him that'."

"Of course he can kick your ass," Sirius said, stating the obvious. "But he'll be polite about it. He won't go for the balls or anything."

"He's a Marauder and he doesn't fight dirty?"

"He's stronger than ninety per cent of people on this planet, Harry. He doesn't need to kick you in the balls to flatten you with one hand."

Harry frowned. "Good point." He looked through the Omniculars again. Lupin was still surfing on the squid, his posture straight and unwavering. "Should we get him?"

"Nah." Sirius waved a hand. "The worst that could happen is he falls into the lake and Doug will throw him out on the shore."

"Oh, alright. Has that ever happened before?"

"It happened _every_ time."


	3. CHAPTER THREE: Grand Prix France, part 1

**CHAPTER THREE: Grand Prix France, part 1**

Rita blinked, the blinked again. She looked back at the letter and checked the address again.

In front of her was a rundown old townhouse, with a brass '269' nailed to the door. The property was cordoned off with yellow-and-black tape and a sign stood on the lawn, proclaiming that the building had been tagged for demolition next week.

To her left stood London's newest skyscraper – thirty floors of obnoxiously expensive apartments, the kind of place she'd been hoping Harry Potter lived in. Naturally, she felt confused. Still, the address was clearly visible on the letter – it hadn't been stained, cried on or otherwise rendered unreadable. With a heavy sigh, she trespassed on the soon-to-be-demolished lawn and knocked on the door.

It swung open in front of her. She didn't make three steps inside when a sheet of paper rolled down from the ceiling and letters appeared on it, as if written by an invisible hand.

I TOLD YOU NOT TO GIVE THE ADDRESS TO ANYONE ELSE.

"Um," she felt stupid talking to a sheet of paper. "It's just Bozo, my photographer…"

The writing was erased and a new sentence appeared.

HELLO, MR. BOZO.

"Khem. Good morning," Bozo said, looking nervously around.

IF I WANTED A PHOTOSHOOT, I'D HAVE WRITTEN TO TEEN WITCH WEEKLY.

"…" Rita simply didn't know what to say, which was a rare occurrence for her.

ALRIGHT, the writing spelled out, HE CAN COME TOO – BUT I GET THE FINAL APPROVAL ON WHAT GETS PRINTED.

"Mr. Potter, I must protest," Rita protested. "A self-respecting reporter cannot-"

I MEANT THE PHOTOS, DARLING. I WOULDN'T DARE TO CENSOR YOUR ARTICLE.

"Oh. Well. That's... good."

I'M ALL FOR FREEDOM OF THE PRESS. ON A TOTALLY UNRELATED NOTE, I HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO BUY THE PROPHET.

"Totally unrelated, I'm sure," Rita said, skeptically.

THIS IS SIRIUS BLACK, HARRY'S GODFATHER. DON'T TAKE HIS THREATS TOO SERIOUSLY. HE REALLY TOOK THE BLACK FAMILY MOTTO TO HEART.

"Black motto?" Rita wondered. "The Blacks' motto is 'always pure' – what-"

OH THAT'S THE OLD ONE.

Rita raised an eyebrow. "What's the current motto then?"

PUTTING 'BLACK' IN BLACKMAIL SINCE 1999 B.C.

Rita's lips curled into a smile. "That's adorable."

WHY THANK YOU, MISS

The sentence was abruptly cut off.

I APOLOGIZE FOR SIRIUS. I ALWAYS TELL HIM IT'S RUDE TO TAKE OTHER PEOPLE'S STUFF.

"Wouldn't it be more comfortable if we could actually speak in person?" Rita asked. "I'm afraid I can't do an interview with a sheet of paper."

SURE. 268 HEADWAY DRIVE. TOP FLOOR.

Rita frowned. "It says 269 in the letter."

AND YOU BELIEVED THAT, OBVIOUSLY [SNORT].

Rita rolled her eyes. "I'm glad I amused you. Come on, Bozo."

~~oOo~~

Cornelius plopped down into his comfortable leather chair, taking a break from the chaos that reigned outside his office. Lucius had come in earlier, seething with rage, because there was still no progress in his case. He claimed that Sirius Black was the culprit behind the robbery and presented the scrap of paper to the Aurors, who proceeded to scratch their heads looking at the blank parchment. Lucius then insisted that the parchment must have been charmed to be only visible to him and quoted the limerick apparently featured on it.

_Wizengamot Lord Malfoy, Your Grace_

_Your big empty library is a really neat place_

_As you sputter with rage, take a peek in the mirror_

_Or some polished wood, whatever's nearer_

_And see and remember the look on your face_

The Aurors did indeed detect some fairly complex magic on the parchment and it was promptly handed over to experts in the field, but the most they achieved was causing the parchment to catch on fire when they cast the first detection spell.

Cornelius tried to reason with Lucius – after all, Sirius Black was a hero of the last war, a member of a prominent pureblood line and it was in all very unlikely that he would commit such a despicable deed. Lucius, however, only threatened retribution and stormed out. That didn't stop him from coming the next day, and the next.

Cornelius inspected the package that had just been delivered. It was fairly heavy and addressed to him. He frowned. He didn't usually get packages here, in the office.

His mouth and eyes formed three perfect O's as he unpacked the contents - his Dueling League trophy and the griffin paperweight, a Christmas gift from his daughter. His eyes flew to the desk and then to a shelf next to the fireplace. Those two items had indeed been missing.

"What..."

~~oOo~~

Rita, not as ignorant as most mages, was at least acquainted with muggle technology, so getting on the elevator and pressing the top floor button was something she could manage. Bozo seemed unusually nervous during the ride up, constantly glancing in all directions, not quite sure how muggles could have made a lift work without Suspension Charms.

When they finally arrived, they stepped out into a small space, looking like a very short corridor – the walls were painted white with a horizontal strip of polished metal at half-height and grey and white tiled floor. There was only one door – a big, intimidating single door of heavy wood with metal fixings and a peek-hole in the middle. There was some kind of electronic panel on the wall next to it, with helpful arrow-signs glued on. One said: 'PRESS HERE TO TALK', another proclaimed a large, round button as 'DOORBELL'. Rita pressed it and a loud 'beep' came from the panel's speaker.

The door swung open, revealing a moderately tall eleven year old with unruly black hair and a characteristic scar peeking out from beneath the fringe. He was dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a checkered shirt. Only his shoes stood out – each had four little wheels attached in a row. Rita had never seen shoes like this. She shrugged mentally - muggles really were strange.

The boy beamed at her. "Miss Skeeter! Welcome to my humble dwelling. And hello, Mr. Bozo."

"Mister Potter," she greeted him, smiling brilliantly and crossing the threshold. Bozo was at her heels, clearly uncomfortable in the strange muggle building. "I must say, it is truly a pleasure to finally meet the national hero… the Boy Who Lived."

Harry's grin grew even wider and he shouted into the flat, "Did you hear that?"

"Yes," came an offended grumble. "So she called you the Boy Who Lived."

"So," Harry continued, "you owe me a crate of Butterbeer! Please, make yourself comfortable," he said to Rita. "Rita – can I call you Rita?" he asked, still grinning shamelessly.

"Only if I can call you Harry," she said.

Harry waggled his eyebrows at her, which she took as a yes, and led them into a spacious living room with a stunning view of London and the Thames. Rita noticed there were no carpets at all anywhere, the polished parquet reigning supreme.

Harry glided in front of her and Bozo on his strange wheeled shoes as effortlessly as if he were ice-skating. He gestured for them to sit on an enormous sofa and walked – well, skated - over to what looked like a liquor cabinet.

"Are you in a hurry, or do we have time for drinks?" he asked. Rita shook her head.

"I have today just for you, Harry."

"What would you like? I have water, orange juice – smooth – Butterbeer and whatever alcohol Sirius brought in."

"Orange juice, if you would, Harry," she said, the image of professionalism. She never drank on the job. Unless, of course, she was trying to get someone drunk. Bozo mumbled something quietly and Rita requested juice as well in his name.

While Harry was busy pouring drinks – he said he was in the market for a house elf who could stay covert in a muggle building – Sirius Black walked in, wearing a radiant expression on his face, contradicting the sourness in his voice earlier.

"Ah, Rita Skeeter," he greeted and strode over to kiss her on the cheek. "I remember you from school. You haven't changed a bit – well, apart from the improved fashion sense, but that's a good change."

"Look at you, Sirius," she said. They were never on first-name basis in school, but he didn't seem to mind. "Still quite dashing."

He was – in his dark trousers, jacket and an even darker shirt, he looked positively delicious. Of course, he didn't seem to notice Bozo at all.

Harry glided over with a drink tray and set it on a low glass table.

"You have a really nice place," Rita commented, admiring the London panorama.

"Thanks." Harry grinned. Rita rose an eyebrow.

"Ah, yes," Sirius went to explain, "this is actually Harry's place. I'm moving to the old House of Black as soon as the renovations are done."

"That's a polite way of saying I'm kicking him out because he leaves filthy socks all over the place and I'm a tidy person," Harry added.

Sirius gave him a bad eye, but Harry just smirked and resumed rolling around on his wheel-shoes.

"There are so many questions to ask," Rita began, pulling out a notepad and her fabulous green quill. "I don't even know where to start."

"We won't bore you with the story of how I adopted Harry, beacuse, as I recall, that was covered ten years ago," Sirius said. The gleam in Rita's eyes faltered slightly. "Unless, of course, you want a rehash," Sirius added, seeing her reaction.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," she agreed. "Like you said, it's been years… my readers will want the whole story. Perhaps you have some new details to share. Oh, right – you don't mind if I use my Quick-Quotes Quill, do you?"

"We do," Sirius said, while at the same time Harry said, "Not at all." A short staring contest ensued, during which Rita had to admire Harry's ability to glare intensely at his godfather while maintaining perfect balance on the wheel-shoes.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "As long I won't read some heart-throbbing crap out of a cheap romance novel, I'm good."

"Sirius, I wouldn't picture you as a sappy, soft-hearted-"

"Yes, you would," Sirius put in. "But that's all in the past. I feel we can really start anew."

"I have to agree with him on that count," Harry said earnestly. "I'd rather we came off as cool, fun-loving and manly."

"In short, something like out of a legend of Marauders," Rita concluded. Sirius' face lit up.

"There are legends about Marauders? I mean, of course there are," he added immediately. "The Marauders are, after all, legend-worthy."

"Do those legends make them out be cool, fun-loving and manly?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Rita half-lied. The legends made the Marauders sound cool, fun-loving, manly as far as borderline metrosexualism could be considered manly and at times, quite moronic. "So, tell me, Sirius… are the recent rumors true? Is Remus Lupin really innocent?"

"Yeah," Sirius confirmed. "Turns out, it's been Peter the whole time. He spent a decade as the Weasleys' pet rat."

"But apart from that, I assume, the story is still the same? You didn't think it was safe for Harry in England, so you just disappeared one night, as soon as the adoption was formalized."

"Can you blame me?" Sirius asked back. "We were fresh out of a war, all my friends were either dead, traitors or didn't want anything to do with me. The country was still crawling with Death Eaters. It wasn't a good place for Harry to grow up. There was nothing left for us here. I wanted him to have a happy childhood, somewhere where the Ministry couldn't reach him and turn him into a poster boy."

"I am, of course, on your side," Rita assured them both. "It's really quite admirable, Sirius, your devotion to your adopted son's wellbeing. What happened next?"

"I took Harry across the ocean, to Latin America," Sirius continued the tale. "My uncle Alphard lives there – he'd been disowned by my father, but he did well for himself and took us in. The next three years were pretty normal – I spoiled Harry rotten," he smiled at his godson, "Alphard helped me transfer the Black fortune out of England and settle it in Panama. We invested profitably – mainly in muggle businesses – and made a ton of money. Harry, heartbreaker from a babe, made a few good friends there. When he was four years old, I decided it was safe to try and take him to Europe. Don't get me wrong, Americas are pretty swell, but I was yearning for some familiarity, you know?"

"A heartbreaker, are you?" Rita winked at Harry.

"Can't you tell?" Harry asked with nonchalance.

"So you made friends in America… any special girl there?"

Harry pursed his lips. "All my female friends are special, Rita. I have standards."

"That's adorably eccentric of you," she commented. The Quill zig-zgged across the notepad at neck-break speed.

"One of them is very special indeed," Sirius said, grinning. "Carmen, her name is."

"Carmen?" Rita perked up. "A lovely name. Would you tell me more about her?"

Harry seemed to consider for a moment. "Her name is Carmen Huertez. We've been friends since we were little. We compete in the International Racing League."

Sirius' grin was threatening to split his face in two. "She's the champion two years running. I always say it just takes a smile from her to leave ickle Harry behind-"

"_Do not_," Harry growled, "call me 'ickle'. Or I'll break your legs, put them back together and break them again."

Rita was taken aback at this sudden of viciousness.

"Ah, yes," Sirius said. "Harry here has some anger management problems. He's been in therapy for two years and made great progress. I'm really proud of him and all that." He waved off the issue.

"Oh," Rita commented eloquently. "Let's get back to your story, shall we? Sirius, you spoke about returning to Europe."

"Right," Sirius said, picking up the story. "We arrived in France and spent some time there. Harry was almost five by the time we were leaving and we met nice people there – Harry, of course, what with his angelic cuteness,charmed their daughter – she's a few years older than him. At some point she demanded of her father – a great guy, I tell you – that they adopt Harry, so she could have a little brother. Fortunately, we managed to persuade her that Harry could be her little brother without all that boring legal stuff." Sirus grinned. Harry gave a superior sniff, not gracing that with a reply.

"That sounds intriguing," Rita said. "Who are those wonderful people?"

"The father is Etienne Delacour, the French Chief of Diplomacy."

"The Delacours?" Rita asked with unmistakable interest. "Why, they are quite well known in France. Isn't Madame Delacour an accomplished healer?"

"She is," Sirius confirmed. "She specializes in mind healing and whatever else has to do with your head. She's Harry's therapist."

"Then the young lady you spoke of must be their daughter, Fleur Delacour," Rita surmised. "This year's favorite for the Junior Dueling League championship." As a reporter, Rita had to keep track of who achieved what in the wizarding world beyond Britain. Any competent journalist followed both the IRL and the Dueling League championships, among other things.

"The one and only," Harry put in. "And deservedly so."

Rita turned to him. "Does Carmen need to worry about her?"

Harry sent her a disarming grin. "Like Sirius said, Fleur's like my big sister. It's only natural that I cheer for her."

"Don't the Delacours have a younger daughter as well?" Rita asked.

"Gabrielle," Harry said. "She adores me. I adore her back, of course."

"Harry taught her to fly a basic broom," Sirius offered helpfully. "He has more girl friends than boys. I think he gets along with them better, though I can't fathom why."

"Because most guys my age are twerps with no appreciation for finer things in life," Harry stated with finality. "And talking to older ones would be _weird_."

"Finer things, Harry? Are you interested in art? Literature?"

"Well," he answered thoughtfully, "I'm not an expert on either, but I do read books and I like visiting places. It's not just broom racing and splashing in mud in here, you know," he said, pointing to his head. "Though I don't mind some good, old-fashioned mud from time to time."

"So, after France," Sirius continued, "we did some gallivanting around Europe and Asia for a couple of years. We came back to Panama periodically, of course. By the time Harry was nine, we've pretty much been on every continent. That's when I got a little concerned about his temper, after he screamed at that waiter in Sydney…"

"_He_ _was utterly_ _incompetent_," Harry protested. "I asked very clearly to not bring me the salad with the dish _and_ I said chicken, not pork. I mean, how can you mix up chicken and pork?" he asked with exasperation, throwing his hands up. "And of course I got pork and the greek salad too."

"I will never understand why you flipped out then, Harry," Sirius said. "What's wrong with pork? Or Greek salad for that matter?"

"There's nothing wrong with them, Sirius," Harry answered. "But it wasn't what I had ordered. When I place an order, I expect to get my order. That's all."

"I can certainly sympathize with you, Harry," Rita said kindly. "I do hate it when my water arrives without the lemon slice."

"See?" Harry said to Sirius triumphantly. "The lady understands."

"Right, right," Sirius waved a dismissive hand. "We checked Harry into therapy with Jasmine Delacour. He sees her every month."

"It's been helpful," Harry said. "Now I only want to punch people when they deserve it."

Rita marveled silently at the material she was getting and at the same time at the peculiarity that was Harry Potter. Bozo still sat stiffly next to her, holding his knees together and cradling his camera.

"What exactly prompted you to come back to Britain?"

"I'll be going to Hogwarts," Harry told her. "Fleur insisted that I come to Beauxbatons, but my French is not that good and I was already enrolled here. Plus, my parents went to Hogwarts – I think it'll be fun."

"I understand then that you're switching your permanent residence to London?"

"I wouldn't say permanent," Sirius answered. "We have the house in Panama, a place in the Alps and now we're moving here, but we've always kind of lived everywhere. We spent a lot of time in hotels and whatnot. We enjoy traveling. Adventures are something of a hobby for us."

"Adventures? Tell me all about it."

"Ah, you know – a jungle trek here, a cross-ocean cruise there," Sirius shrugged. "We like challenges."

"That certainly sounds intriguing," Rita agreed. "But why don't we have little a break from the story and take a few pictures? My readers are dying for a glimpse of you, Harry."

Harry screeched to a halt on his wheeled shoes. "In that case," he said, "I have to change, don't I?"

"Absolutely," Rita said. "Sirius, you look fabulous already."

Sirius inclined his head. "Thanks, Rita."

"Bozo, be a dear and ready up the camera."

~~oOo~~

Rita left with a promise of one more meeting before he article was ready, Harry and Sirius, packed into their Bottomless Bags, with their Bottomless Pockets charm-stuck to their jackets, took their scheduled portkey from London to Paris, narrowly avoiding being mobbed, and exited the Paris International Portkey Terminal into the sunlit Le District Magique, Wizarding France's response to Diagon Alley. In the conveniently located café opposite the Terminal, sat the three Delacour women, apparently waiting for them. Five year old Gabrille spotted them first and run up to hug Harry's left leg fiercely. He patted her on the head with affection.

"'Arry," she beamed at him. "You look funny."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Funny? That's no way to greet your big brother, young lady."

She offered up a handkerchief. "You have something on your nose." Harry cleaned the soot off his face and scrougified the handkerchief before returning it.

Granted, the five year old Gabrielle spoke perfectly competent English in comparison to Harry's French. Sirius' was very good, which created a lot of opportunities for his adopted family to make jokes at his expense without him realizing it.

"'Arry, dear." Jasmine Delacour smiled down at him benevolently and kissed the top of his head, causing Harry's cheeks to flush with embarrassment. "It is good to see you."

Being used to Fleur, he didn't blush even a little when she kissed both his cheeks. She was polite, but Harry couldn't help but notice some frost in her demeanor.

"Have I done something wrong?" he asked her.

She looked at him crossly. "You're going to Hogwarts," she said accusingly, poking him hard in the chest.

"Ah, yes," Harry noted. "We've talked about it."

"You would leave me alone in Beauxbatons for another four years?"

"You've done fine so far-"

"Don't interrupt me when I speak, 'Arry!" she exclaimed. Gabrielle supported her sister and kicked Harry in the shin in a very unladylike manner.

"You are one of the few intelligent boys I've ever met," Fleur complained.

"That's what it looks like, sister, because most swoon at the sight of you," Harry reasoned. "You are, after all, absolutely swoon-worthy."

"You're just being contrary, 'Arry," Fleur huffed. "And I intend to ignore you for the evening."

He made sure to look heartbroken. Fleur always expected him to react appropriately. "Ah – why the torture, sweet sister?"

She threw him an icy glance and went to greet Sirius.

"Well," Harry said in a placating manner, "if any oaf boys ever bother you, be sure to give me their names and addresses, so I can-"

"That's very chivalrous of you, 'Arry," Jasmine interrupted. "But I think you last intervention has scared off all the boys in Beauxbatons."

"Hey," Harry protested. "It's wasn't my fault. I had no idea he was allergic to Bobotuber pus."

"He wasn't allergic," Jasmine explained. "That was le problem."

"You almost _drowned_ him in Bobotuber pus, Harry," Sirius added. "Anyone would've had a violent reaction to that kind of treatment."

"And I repented for my sins," Harry defended himself. "In three additional therapy sessions."

"Admit it, kid, that was no punishment. You _enjoy_ your therapy sessions."

"Hey," Harry sounded indignant. "I'll have you know those three were no-ice-cream sessions," Harry said, apparently of the opinion that lack of ice-cream had been punishing enough. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"I can't stay mad at you, Harry," he said. "But no assaulting of Fleur's admirers. Unless she asks you."

Fleur continued to give Harry a wide berth, while Gabrielle trotted at his side, chattering happily.

"And we can fly together tomorrow…"

"Sure," he promised her. "After the training session. We'll have a fly over the camp."

With Gabrielle satisfied, he decided he had to get back on Fleur's good side somehow.

"I could… visit you in school?"

She glanced over, but gave no reply.

"Regularly," he upped the offer.

"Well… I don't know, 'Arry. You have let me down. Very much."

"We didn't always see each other when I come for my sessions," Harry said. "I'll visit you every month." Fleur was a very possessive older sister and he had a soft spot for her. He just hoped she would get more reasonable as they both got older, or he would never be able to have a girlfriend.

"Will your school let you just wander off to France once every month? I doubt it."

"They're going to have to," Harry reasoned. "If I miss even one of my sessions, I might try to drown someone in Bobotuber pus."

"Oh, very well," she relented. "You may come to the Dueling League finals, 'Arry."

He hadn't realized he'd been forbidden.

"Thanks, Fleur." He smiled at her. "I'm sure you'll win."

"I imagine the odds are in my favor," she said.

"Now, that the familial crisis has been dealt with," said Sirius, "can we move? I'm hungry."


	4. CHAPTER FOUR: Grand Prix France, part 2

**AN:** I split the chapter in two because it was fairly long. Thanks for all the reviews! And if someone happens to speak French, I'd appreciate if you could tell me if the phrase "Le District Magique' translates properly to 'magical district' or something along those lines. Unoriginal, but hey - I made an effort ;)

**CHAPTER FOUR: Grand Prix France, part 2**

They met with Etienne for a late dinner in Chateau Delacour. Fleur and Gabrielle's father listened with interest to Sirius' account of their moving to England. He also tried to politely persuade Harry to change his mind and enroll at Beauxbatons, waving off the issue of the language barrier.

"With Fleur to tutor you, 'Arry, you would catch up quickly."

Harry was inclined to agree with him – Fleur could be intimidating when she wanted to and he would probably master her native tongue within a month out of sheer fright, but he stood by his decision to attend Hogwarts. He asked Etienne if he could come watch the Grand Prix tomorrow, but his schedule did not allow it.

"I shall come to the finals in Germany, however, to watch your victory," he said with a smile. Harry smiled back – he actually had a chance for the championship this year and he intended to do his very best. Since Jasmine was busy tomorrow as well, it fell to Sirius to watch Harry's entourage, namely Fleur and Gabrielle. He would be meeting his other friends at the camp – he'd met most of his friends that way, through the Racing League.

In the morning, Etienne wished Harry good luck and kissed his daughters and Jasmine did the same, only she also kissed Harry on the cheek, embarrassing him yet again. It was one thing to be kissed by Fleur and another to by the woman who was the closest person to a mother he had in his life. She didn't fuss over him – she never had the opportunity to become one of those smothering, nurturing mothers when Fleur was such an independent soul – but she cared about him no less than her daughters.

They Flooed to the Floo station in Le District Magique, and from there took a portkey – which had to be booked a month earlier – to the location of this year's Junior Racing League Racing French Grand Prix. The races took place away from muggle settlements, where the judges could come up with a race track that would be both challenging for the competitors and interesting to watch for the audience, which, granted, in the Junior League consisted mostly of proud parents, uncles, aunts, cousins and siblings – family in general, with a few reporters here and there and sponsors, who always looked for fresh new talents to snatch up before they entered graduated to the Middle League.

Due to randomness of the locations, there was always a large campsite set up, with separate areas for fans, competitors, their coaches and sponsors and finally, for the judges, security and other staff.

Harry parted with Sirius and the girls and they went off to set up their tent. Harry took the specially created gravel path (the campsite would completely disappear after the event) and found the nearest information point.

"Ah, yes, Mister 'Arry Potter," the wizard spoke in heavily accented French. "The Coldstream tents are located just a short bit up the path. You will see them on your right." He handed him a map of the entire campsite, with important places marked in red. This year, there were ninety-four competitors from sixty-two countries in the Junior League, aged eight to eleven. Most professional athletes started out young, just like in the muggle world.

Harry easily located his team's tents, one of them considerably bigger than the others. Coldstream were a relatively new competitor and didn't have a foothold in the Senior League yet, having only been around for five years. At the moment, they had two racers in the Junior and three in the Middle League under their wings. Harry himself was the most recent addition to the team. It was his third season in the Junior League (full career spanned four) and it would be his last.

The tents, colored in Coldstream's black and blue with white accents, bustled with activity – Harry saw familiar faces moving about, discussing the strategy, publicity and brooms. Coldstream was one of only three teams who flew on their own manufactures brooms. The company, started nine years ago by Marco Agrattsi, an Italian wizard who had a lot of free time and even more free money.

When his brooms were brought up to international standards, Marco decided to join the IRL ranks and started a team called Coldstream, backed by the company named Coldstream, that manufactured brooms called Coldstreams. Naturally, Marco's youngest son, Elizer, joined the team as soon as he turned eight.

Harry flew his first two seasons as an independent competitor and as such had to use a broom that wasn't as good as those used by professional teams. Roughly half of the Juniors started out as independent fliers, usually joining teams after one or two seasons if they showed a promise. After his previous season and fifth place overall, Coldstream offered him a contract, which, after being heavily scrutinized by uncle Alphard, was signed and Harry became Coldstream's newest racer.

Harry entered the biggest tent and right away, he spotted Marco, as always dressed in rather casual clothes with a slightly muggle cut and still managing to look every bit the business shark that he was, what with his devilish smirk. Having now met Lucius Malfoy – sort of – Harry was struck by a thought that if the blond wizard had a nicer cousin, Marco Agrattsi would be that person.

"Harry, welcome," he greeted him with a firm handshake. "You're here. Bene. You can get warmed up before the training session."

"Hello, Marco," Harry said. Marco was nice to the people he liked and he insisted that Harry call him by his first name. It was a little weird in the beginning – Marco was forty seven years old – but eventually Harry got used to it. Even the technical staff on the team called him that. "I'm eager and ready. Where's Lizzy?"

Marco smirked. He found Harry's nickname for Elizer very amusing. Elizer, being Elizer, would tell Harry a hundred times a day, if needed, not to call him that, but he only did it half-heartedly. Like Harry, he didn't have many friends and treated the nickname as Harry's special privilege.

"He's been waiting for you. He's in the tent."

He didn't need to specify which tent – they were always marked. Harry and Elizer shared one, Marco resided in the next, the three remaining team racers occupied the third and the last, largest, was the team's field headquarters during the events.

Harry left the main tent and approached one of the smaller ones. Elizer was indeed inside, flipping lazily through a fashion magazine. Fleur liked Elizer. They always had something in common to talk about – either they complained about poor food, or other people's poor fashion sense or Harry's hair. Harry didn't mind – he was just happy that Fleur got along with his friend, which wasn't always the case.

"Harry, amico." Elizer livened up at the sight of him. He threw the magazine over his shoulder and pulled Harry into an embrace that didn't quite meet all the criteria of a brief manly hug. Harry suspected Elizer was gay. When he told him about his suspicions, Elizer lifted his eyes to the sky, deep in thought, before walking over to Fleur and kissing her square on the lips and then walked up to Harry and kissed him.

"I think you may be right, amico," he said then, calm and composed as always.

Fleur, flew into a rage but calmed down once Harry explained – still in shock from the impromptu kiss – that this was entirely for scientific purposes and Elizer is gay after all and he really needed her advice on that fabulous new shampoo that she'd told him about.

Thank Merlin Fleur liked Elizer. And, due to his being gay, he was barely affected by her developing aura. Of course, being male, he still felt its influence – Harry could never dull it out completely either.

"Lizzy." Harry grinned. "How've you been?"

Elizer sighed dramatically. "Please, amico, at least don't call me that ridiculous nickname in front of strangers."

"I won't," Harry lied, still grinning.

"We should get to the warm up," Elizer decided. "I have been waiting for you. Let us change and go."

They changed into their exercise clothes, in Coldstream colors. The racing uniforms were distinctly different from more loose, comfortable exercise wear. Elizer then grabbed two telescopic sticks that could be elongated to a maximum length of five feet. Harry, used to blades rather than spearlike weaponry always ended their exercises with more than a few bruises, seeing as Elizer felt no compunction against beating him with a dirty big stick.

They left the tent and Elizer, who had been at the campsite since the previous day, led Harry to a large, flat area where many other racers could be seen doing various stretching exercises or simply spending time friends playing games. They found a free spot and Elizer, as he always did, decided what exercises they should do before moving on to beating each other with their sticks. Harry actually thought it was fun – it wasn't often that you got to beat your friend up just for laughs – plus it sharpened their situational awareness and reflexes.

Once Elizer felt they were stretched enough, he threw Harry one of the sticks. Having trained with them for a few months now, Harry was orders of magnitude better than he had at the beginning, but Elizer had years of experience and Harry counted every tiny bruise he gave his friend as a victory.

It didn't take a minute before Harry was already on his back, having been tripped up.

"Nice move, Lizzy," Harry praised. "I never saw it coming."

"You usually don't see things coming," said someone, in a distinctly familiar sarcastic manner. "And you still keep beating each other. _Boys_."

Elizer propped himself up on his stick, assumed a nonchalant pose and said, "Hello, Carmen," before turning his attention to his fingernails.

Harry spun in the direction of the voice and grinned automatically. "Hi, beautiful," he said.

Carmen Huertez, with her tanned olive skin, long black hair and a blindingly white smile came closer and patted Harry on the cheek affectionately. "Harry. I've told you before you were too short for me. But you're still sweet."

Carmen was two tiny inches taller than Harry and currently dressed in a form-fitting costume in her team's green and yellow colors. Team Carrera hailed from Brazil and belonged to the absolute elite. Flying for Carrera opened many doors and was usually a promise of a successful career. They weren't the biggest team, with seventeen racers across all three Leagues, but one of the best. And Carmen Huertez was Carrera's brightest shining star in the Junior section. Harry had known Carmen since they were little and she always teased him about his small posture. It wasn't that Harry was short for his age. He was admirably average – Carmen was just taller than most girls. Also, in addition to being taller, Carmen was also older than him, having been born in January, but Harry dismissed such insignificant details.

She approached Elizer, whom she had met through Harry and hugged him briefly. Carmen had very strict rules about how close boys were allowed to get to her, but Elizer, being gay, was one of the few exceptions. He addressed Carmen in a friendly manner – there was no intense rivalry between them, because Carmen didn't feel threatened by her Italian competitor. Elizer was a solid racer and held a steady position in the top ten, but always said that racing for him was more of a hobby than anything else. Therefore, Harry was Coldstream's biggest hope.

"Harry," Carmen said, turning back to him. "You are still no good with the stick."

"But I can hold my own with a sword," he said. "If you ever want some lessons, you know who to ask."

She rolled her eyes. "Good luck in the race, Harry. As long as you stay behind me."

"I really don't understand," Elizer said suddenly, his attention back on Harry.

"What don't you understand, Lizzy?"

"You have that same conversation before every single race," Elizer said. "Is that a flirting technique?"

"Ah, Carmen." Harry sighed happily. "She loves me, I know it – she's just waiting until I grow a bit taller."

"Whatever you say, amico," Elizer said and lashed out with his stick, hitting Harry in the thigh without a warning.

Distracted after the brief encounter with Carmen, Harry collected more bruises than usually and returned to the tents sporting a pulsating, quickly darkening bruise on his temple.

"You really should have paid more attention, Harry," Elizer commented. "Normally you don't let me hit your head."

"Normally," Harry grumbled, "you _don't_ _aim_ for my head."

"Accidents happen, amico," Elizer stated wisely.

When they got back Harry let the team medic, a boisterous man called Antonio look him over and take care of the bruises before joining Elizer for a light meal before the actual training session began. They would have two hours to acquaint themselves with the track, during which time they were allowed to leave the track and consult their teams and then came the hour to try and get the best lap time possible. Twelve best times guaranteed a headstart over the rest of the group, decreasing the longer the lap time was. Even being able to start from the twelfth place was a hefty advantage – the amassed racers behind naturally started out slower and most races played out between those in the first twelve, although miracles happened and sometimes a rookie from the very back would whisk between the others almost to the lead.

Coldstream's Junior stars changed into their summer racing uniforms. The uniform designs were universally standardized. Each racer was provided with two sets of clothes – one summer uniform and one for winter. Of course, racers with team sponsoring and those independent ones that could afford it normally equipped themselves with at least two of each.

The summer uniform was comprised of ankle-high shoes, fingerless gloves and lightweight but sturdy body armor – at the speeds the racers were going most of the time, a headfirst slam into a tree or a solid rock wall often threatened death or serious injury, which was why the uniforms' anti-collision enchantments had to be thoroughly checked before and after each training session and race. Ever since body armor and safety regulations had been introduced in the early 1800s, the mortality rate decreased to near zero. Still, once in a while, a racer had to expect to attend a memorial funeral.

Under the armor was a thin t-shirt under a zip-up jacket and tight-fitting pants. No fancy cloaks, capes or other fashionably looking, but loose elements for them – a piece of the uniform caught up on a sharp edge could be just as dangerous as a head-on collision. Still, the uniforms had been designed to have an appropriately cool look while ensuring safety.

Kicking was strictly prohibited, as well as deliberately pushing another racer off the track and into the aforementioned trees or rock formations and such. Both feet had to remain firmly on the leg supports and hands couldn't leave the broom's shaft with the purpose of sabotaging another racer. The only form of contact allowed was shoulder or leg bumping, which was unavoidable in tight corners.

Winter uniforms were made of thicker fabric, boots were knee-high and warming charms were stronger. There was also the option of a cap, but hardly anyone ever used it when the goggles came with area warming and cooling charms and the impervious enchantment to push away snow, rain and occasional falling leaves or cobwebs. A racer's goggles also fulfilled another important role.

Each race track typically consisted of three actual tracks that overlapped with each other for roughly half the distance. The overlapping sections were marked with white floating hoops, thirty feet in diameter. The separate track sections were marked with differently colored hoops – always red, green and blue. Each track being the roughly same distance but varied in difficulty, a training session consisted of getting a recorded lap time along each track which were then combined to give the end result.

During a race, enchantments on the goggles determined which track an individual would be taking during each lap. A race consisted of sixty laps and each racer was obligated to cover each of the tracks twenty times. At the start and always after crossing the start/finish line, the lenses' color would change accordingly to a reddish, greenish or a bluish hue, telling the racer which route they should take. The changes were random – you could fly the twenty laps around the red track first, then green, then blue, or there could no order to it at all. The people in charge of rotating the colors tweaked them to give the fans the best show. Often two or three leading racers would be doing the exact same rotation for the entire race. It was well-known – or a badly kept secret – that once you found yourself in that kind of setup, it meant you could count yourself among the better racers in the League.

During this season, Harry had flown all but one race arm in arm with Carmen.

When the clock struck two, Harry and Elizer, escorted by the entire team, made their way to the Coldstream's observation post – a sky box hanging in a row with others over a shallow canyon that housed the starting line. Areas for fans were designated all along the track, in the overlapping sections, with giant screens that frequently switched between the racers' monitoring spells – attached to the brooms – but usually kept to the first twelve. For a fee, anyone could rent a specially charmed mirror that responded to specific wishes. More often than not, _everyone_ rented a mirror so they could follow their favorite through an entire race. Sirius always did it and always went to the observation area by the starting line. Harry spotted him across the canyon with the girls and waved cheerfully. They waved back.

The team crowded into their box and Marco gave them a few pointers.

"This race will be very demanding," he warned. "Our French hosts have really upped the ante and the Germans will have to be creative to provide a worthy show for the finals. There are a lot of sharp corners and twice as many corkscrews as in Sweden, so decelerate when you need to. After all, this is all good fun, boys." They nodded, knowing very well that Marco would have their heads if they entered corners the tiniest bit slower than the fastest of the competitors.

They mounted their Coldstreams and flew out of the skybox, moving to the safe area above the first hoop. A few racers zipped past, having already started their laps. Carmen floated over on her Lightning. It was the model used by more than half of all racers in IRL for its reliability and a good balance between speed and handling. Marco called it 'disgustingly mainstream'. Coldstreams were built for speed and stability in the corners. That necessitated a drop in acceleration but Marco reasoned that if they could take the corners at higher speeds, then they shouldn't need more acceleration in straights. And if the broom was stable, it should be more than enough – directing the broom was the racer's job and he resented any suggestion of tweaking the Coldstreams' handling properties from the threateningly edgy to softer. Harry didn't mind and he didn't think Elizer did either – they've learned to handle their brooms well enough to stay among the best.

"Hello, boys," Carmen purred. "Ready for the race?"

Harry and Carmen always treated the training sessions as a pre-race of sorts. They would spend a few laps getting to know the track and then raced against each other during the lap recordings, doing their typical routine of red-blue-green. Harry enjoyed it and it always made him want to fly better, faster, harder in the training session if he had someone to compete against. Marco approved.

"Always," Elizer said confidently, putting on his goggles and, without waiting for Harry – he knew well enough to leave them to their game – sped off, spiraling through the hoop.

Carmen grinned at Harry and shot forward. He let her lead while they were scouting out the tracks, because he was gentlemanly like that.

He stopped being gentlemanly when four o'clock struck and the lap time qualifications began. He shoulder bumped Carmen and pushed past her on a particularly tight corner and managed to keep a narrow lead throughout the hour. When they finally landed, both gasping for breath and leaning on each other – though Carmen was trying weakly to kick him in the thigh – they found out that Harry's combined lap times from the three tracks were point four-seven seconds better than Carmen's. They also found out that their times weren't the best two. Elizer found them staring at the board, proclaiming some independent nine-year-old the fastest flier of the qualification session while Harry and Carmen were second and third, respectively. Elizer seemed pleased with his sixth place.

Harry accompanied Carmen to the Carrera's tents.

"That wasn't very nice of you, Harry," Carmen told him again, glaring daggers.

"I know," he said. "But I'm not sorry. Will you go out for ice-cream with me?"

Her eyes narrowed and she scrutinized him for a long moment before her faced relaxed and she rolled her eyes. "Meet me at the portkey station in an hour."

Which meant Harry half an hour to get himself presentable, because then he had to tell Sirius he was taking Carmen for ice-cream (his knowledge of French did extend to 'two vanilla sundaes, please') and when Carmen said 'one hour' it could mean anything from forty-five minutes to an hour and fifteen minutes. That, in turn, meant that in worst case Harry would have to wait for half an hour, but he felt thirty minutes spent waiting for Carmen to show up wouldn't be time wasted.

Luckily for him, this time he hadn't had to wait for too long. They showed their racer's licenses at the portkey station and each received a special pass that proclaimed them as racers of the Junior League competing in the Grand Prix and as such entitled to a free portkey back to the camp when they were coming back.

Harry knew that Carmen rarely visited Europe outside of racing events, so he took the opportunity to show her around his favorite places in La District Magique – she seemed the tiniest bit impressed. Harry felt pleased with himself – it wasn't easy to keep Carmen's attention and any boy who didn't indulge in broom sports at least recreationally didn't exist in her world.

Harry grinned when she told him she hadn't known he spoke French when he ordered two vanilla sundaes for them.

At some point Harry fished out a magical camera from his Bottomless Pocket and they dashed around both magical and muggle Paris taking pictures of each other and asking nice tourists to take pictures of them both. They garnered more than a few strange or concerned looks – after all, two eleven year olds out on their own in a big city such as Paris wasn't a common sight, but they ignored the muggles and Harry happily paid for every ride and ticket. Harry never had an allowance – if he needed money, he just told Sirius and his Bottomless Wallet would be equipped with a healthy supply of cash. Harry had been forced to sit through a series of lectures on money management delivered by uncle Alphard – Sirius attended them as well, actually – because they both went a little crazy when they suddenly had unlimited access to their vast respective fortunes.

After a day well spent (with his future girlfriend, Harry mused) they returned to the camp tired, but happy. Sirius was a little worried, but understood when Harry explained he couldn't have said no when Carmen decided to watch the sunset from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

"I'll expect copies of the pictures by the time we get to Germany, Harry," Carmen informed him before kissing him on the cheek when they said their goodbyes in front of her tent. Harry returned to his team's campsite feeling a little lightheaded. Elizer was cuddled on his bed with Fleur, flipping through the fashion magazine Harry had seen him with earlier during the day and they were both giggling.

"'Arry!" Fleur exclaimed. "Your hair looks horrible!"

"She is right, amico," Elizer agreed, watching Harry scornfully. "What did you do? It's worse than after the qualifications."

He explained Carmen had pushed him into a fountain and he didn't exactly have a towel on hand to dry it properly.

"Lizzy, do we have any orange juice?" he asked flippantly, opening he fridge.

"Yes, but I think this one is with bits – sorry," Elizer replied.

Harry groaned and grabbed a bottle of water instead.

"'Arry," Fleur scolded him. "Cease calling Elizer that ridiculous nickname."

"Of course, Fleur," Harry lied smoothly and added ice and a slice of lemon to his water. Fleur noticed and demanded he prepare a glass for her as well.

"You want one too?" he asked Elizer.

"No, thanks." He pulled Fleur's attention back to the magazine. When he announced that he was giving up the Remus and Romulus' Magic Institute in Rome in favor of more renowned Beauxbatons, Fleur smiled at him radiantly.

"I will have pleasant male company that won't drool all over my robes," she said with delight before turning on her brother-in-all-ways-that-mattered. "See, 'Arry? Elizer knows a good school of magic when he sees it."

"I've never actually been to Beauxbatons," Elizer felt compelled to point out, but Fleur silenced him.

"No matter. How is your French?"

"Pretty good. Better than my German," he replied. Elizer was multilingual and learning languages was considerably easier for him than the average person.

"I will tutor you," Fleur offered. "It is such a shame that you are gay, Elizer. Not that there is anything wrong with being, gay, of course," she added quickly.

"I'm afraid I would fall prey to your wily charms otherwise, Fleur," he answered.

Harry was understandably exhausted, so he bid Fleur and Elizer goodnight and fell asleep without even taking off his shoes. Elizer, ever the gentleman, offered to escort Fleur back to the tent she shared with Gabrielle. Not that there was any danger, what with the security patrolling every inch of the camp, but Fleur appreciated the gesture nonetheless. He returned to his and Harry's tent then and went to sleep himself, but not before writing 'Advertising space for rent' on Harry's forehead with a 24 Hour Unwashable Magic Marker.

When Harry woke up in the morning, he first noticed a 24 Hour Unwashable Magic Marker on the table and, stifling a laugh, wrote 'Vacancies inside – contact Lizzy' on Elizer's forehead while he still slept. Then Harry went into the bathroom and saw his own forehead, decorated a la Lizzy.

Frowning, he tried in vain to wash off the marker despite knowing full well that it wasn't going to work, but he was bullheadedly stubborn like that sometimes. He had both his wands, he knew a few basic cleaning spells and was aware that the Trace didn't kick in until eleventh birthday and only worked in Britain anyway. When _Scrougify_ didn't work, he decided that if he thought Elizer's forehead was fair game, he might as well suffer the laughs along with him.

Elizer accepted the fact that everyone was going to connect 'Lizzy' with his name and he would probably end up changing his legal name to 'Lizzy' at some point in the near future when everyone will have forgotten that he was actually named Elizer with the usual remote dignity and greeted Harry politely, as always. They ate a solid breakfast out in front of the tent with the rest of the team – Antonio was grilling heavily seasoned meat on a huge (and yet collapsible and portable!) barbecue. Marco managed to consume his steak – grilled to a pitch black – from a paper plate, using plastic utensils with a dignified air of an aristocrat eating at the king's table. Elizer mimicked his father almost perfectly, though he had some trouble cutting the steak with the plastic knife.

Harry discarded dignity in favor of _smooth_ orange juice that Antonio had thoughtfully procured for him.

After breakfast, it was back to the training grounds. Having received a solid dose of quality time with Carmen the previous day, Harry didn't let himself become as distracted today when she came over to say hello and consequently avoided any sneaky blows to the head, even managing to land a few good hits himself when Elizer, inevitably, pulled out the sticks.

After reporting to Antonio for inevitable bruise-healing, Harry and Elizer each took a shower and grabbed fresh uniforms. Harry felt good about his chances. He had a feeling that kid starting from pole position would be easy pickings and he would traditionally have to be aware where Carmen was at all times. There were reasons to suspect they would be made to fly a parallel race today as well.

Unsurprisingly, he was right on count of flying with Carmen. The nine-year old in the front proved to be an actual challenge. Harry wondered how in hell he'd never paid attention to him before. Then he answered himself, after being overtaken in mid-corkscrew by him while flying on a Coldstream against a mainstream Lightning which he knew was slower in corners. Kaiden Lynch – whose older brother was already making a name for himself in professional Quidditch – was just a mean _devil_ in corners, of which there were more in this race than any previous Grand Prix this year, suddenly incited a moment of panic in Harry, which cost him his concentration for the few brief moments that Carmen had used to the fullest, sweeping past him and tearing after Lynch. Harry finished the race in third place, which although a good result, had broken his streak of victories over Carmen in a row. Lynch had taken something precious from him – until now, Harry prided himself the master of difficult, technical corners in the Junior League. He liked being the best at something. Lynch didn't much care and enjoyed his first ever victory with obnoxious happiness.

Carmen offered partly-sincere words of consolation. "Oh, don't worry, Harry, you knew your string of humiliating me had to end sometime. And you're still second in the charts."

"Yes, I know," he said, glowering, but without conviction – he couldn't stay angry with Carmen. "I just need to win in Germany and then I can accept my trophy, crowning my career in the Junior League with a championship."

"Oh, you poor, sweet thing," Carmen cooed. "I'll try not to enjoy _my_ championship too much or else you'll be crushed. I'll see you in Germany!"

Harry returned to the tent in a decidedly foul mood. Somewhere in the back of his mind a thought of wringing Lynch's scrawny neck cluttered and then he remembered he was meeting Jasmine for his therapy session today and did his breathing exercise. Elizer had flown one of his best races today – fourth place it may have been, but it also moved him to fifth in the charts. Top five had just received some fresh blood and Marco congratulated his son before moving on to Harry.

"Good flying today, although that one little mistake cost you second place certainly and possibly your fifth victory in a row. You know what I mean, don't you, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry grumbled. "Champions don't make mistakes."

"I know what I'm talking about, amico," Marco said, patting him on the back. "I was the Senior League champion five times."

Harry knew that, of course. Marco was very proud of his racing career and liked to mention his five-time championship often. Harry had to put on his game face when the press descended upon them to document the podium winners of the French 1991 Junior Racing League Grand Prix. Harry wasn't happy to pose for pictures with corner-cutting Kaiden Lynch or to find out that Lynch, despite being two years younger, was as tall as he was. After the press conference, Harry nervously asked Marco if he was considering extending a contract offer to Lynch and Marco raised an eyebrow so high it disappeared into his neatly trimmed gray hair.

"Lynch is seventh in the charts, amico. Not bad for an independent flier in his second season, but if he's only good in the corners, then no. You've flown ahead of him for fifty-seven laps, Harry. If you had two more left than you had when he jumped ahead, I suspect both you and Carmen Huertez could have taken him."

Harry felt somewhat reassured. He said his goodbyes to the team and joined Sirius and the girls at the portkey point. Back in the Chateau they were met at the door by Etienne, who asked about the race.

"He flew great," Sirius praised.

"'Arry did very well," Fleur offered.

Gabrielle could comprehend that if Harry had his pictures taken after a race, then it meant the race went well, like today, but didn't have a more detailed opinion than that.

"I sucked," Harry commented gloomily. "I got distracted."

"Well," Etienne sounded thoughtful. "Perhaps a bowl of lemon and vanilla ice-cream with a deliciously salty caramel core will serve to improve your mood."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I need ice-cream." Then he stalked off towards Jasmine's study, where his therapy session customarily took place.

Gabrielle understood the important fact that ice-cream had been mentioned in that brief exchange.

"Papa! I want ice-cream too!" Etienne scooped his younger daughter up into his arms and sat her on his shoulders. "Well, let's see what's left in the kitchen."

Fleur wandered off to her rooms, claiming she needed a proper bath after one and a half days of _camping_. Sirius, left by himself, set course for Etienne's liquor cabinet, deciding that three in the afternoon was late enough for a drink. He still hadn't noticed that Gabrielle had scribbled 'Poke here' in French at the back of his neck with a 24 Hour Unwashable Magic Marker when he'd been sleeping.


	5. CHAPTER FIVE: Close Encounters, part 1

**AN:** No point in letting it just sit on my hard drive if it's ready...

**CHAPTER THREE: Close Encounters Of The Wizard-kind, part 1**

They spent another night in the Delacour household before returning to England. Sirius explained that he couldn't leave Kreacher on his own for too long in Grimmauld Place and Harry stated the need to drop by Diagon Alley and gather his school supplies. Fleur, aware that those robes would be included among those supplies, insisted that with his slightly pedestrian fashion sense Harry would end up looking not as she should and she couldn't be associated with someone that dressed badly, so it was obvious she had to go.

Etienne and Jasmine shared a knowing look – the girls didn't get to see Harry all that much and really, once Fleur decided, they probably weren't allowed to have an opinion to the contrary.

"I swear, dearest, our daughters are leading us by the nose," Etienne said with mock scorn. She patted his shoulder.

"They take after their mother."

Sirius was was maneuvered into overseeing the Diagon Alley trip. Fleur rolled her eyes and insisted that between her and Harry Gabrielle would be perfectly safe, but that was nonnegotiable.

Of course, with the girls coming with them to England, Lord Black was kicked out the guest bedroom in Harry's apartment earlier than scheduled. Harry chivalrously offered his bedroom to Fleur who replied that she and Gabrielle would be comfortable enough sharing a room.

Sirius abandoned the youth soon after the return trip. Harry, with some horror, discovered that apart from beverages, the kitchen was completely empty. He rode down to the lobby, urging Fleur not to touch any of the electronic devices and especially not the wires and asked Larry from security for a number to the nearest pizza place. Larry flipped through a phone book and provided the means for Harry to prevent starvation. The delivery guy was a little surprised when the door was opened by a kid on roller blades while in the background he could hear an indignant voice speaking with a French accent.

"'Arry! There's a problem with your… television!"

"Hey," the delivery guy said in hushed tones. "A French bird – congrats. How old are you, mate?"

Harry then gave him a look of cold fury for the insinuation.

"That's my _sister_ you're talking about."

Getting rid of the delivery guy proved somewhat troublesome when Fleur came into view and he started openly drooling, but in the end, her virtue was preserved.

Harry, having noticed what Gabrielle had done to Sirius the previous day and not wanting to parade through Diagon Alley with something written somewhere on his neck or forehead, took great care to hide away every last one of the 24 Hour Unwashable Magic Markers he had in the apartment.

The morning was a hectic affair, with Fleur commandeering the bathroom for an hour, followed by pulling Harry in to despair over his hair but doing nothing to it in the end, proclaiming it as 'hopeless'. Gabrielle, who had managed to somehow open the charmed cabinet in the living room, giggled her way through breakfast consisting of dry remnants of the pizza. Fortunately she could only reach the bottom shelf, which contained nothing save Butterbeer and orange juice.

Despite the mishaps, Harry was grinning when they met Sirius downstairs. Gabrielle had developed a small hiccup, but Sirius took care of that once they were in the magical part of London.

In Diagon Alley, Gabrielle, whose weakness for ice-cream exceeded even Harry's, smiled prettily and manipulated Sirius into buying her a strawberry dessert at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Florean, the incident from a few days before still fresh in his memory, approached them a little awkwardly. Fleur whisked Harry away for the school robes hunt. He automatically turned in the direction of Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, but Fleur was adamant they find a local Gladrag's branch, which she deemed the only British clothesmaker worthy of any attention (though she would never admit it openly, because she'd been raised to be a polite lady), or more specifically, her attention.

Harry steeled himself for what he knew would be a long few hours in the tailor's shop. Fleur sat patiently on a couch, with one leg over the other, arms crossed and a slightly frosty expression which only changed whenever Harry presented himself in yet another outfit. She would furrow her eyebrows and purse her lips when something was entirely unacceptable, shift her position just a little when she thought there was hope and give a rare sign of absolute approval in the form of a small smile.

Sirius found them half hour into Harry's one-man fashion gala, claiming he just looked for the most expensive tailor in the area. He dropped off Gabrielle – who tried to emulate her sister, more often than not with amusing results – and marched away in an unspecified direction, agreeing to meet them in the bookstore at noon.

Harry left Gladrag's salon a hefty sum poorer and with a multitude of bags in his Bottomless Pocket. Fleur had insisted that outer school robes were just the beginning and determinedly proceeded to select an entirely new wardrobe for Harry, right down to socks and underwear. The tailor, at least, seemed to offer some support, casting him encouraging glances.

With only twenty minutes left to their scheduled meeting with Sirius, Harry stormed through several places in record time, collecting his Potions supplies, a stack of parchment, quills and ink (Fleur put in her two words, forcing Harry to buy the most extravagant eagle feathers available), grabbed a telescope and stopped shortly at the Eylops Menagerie. He looked around the shop, looking every owl in the eye until one responded with a look of her own – 'What do you think you're staring at?' Fleur tried to reason with him, claiming that one should take their time while choosing a familiar, especially an owl, but Harry wouldn't be persuaded. He bought the big, snowy owl and started off with a list of random names until the owl turned its head to him when he said 'Hedwig'.

"Hedwig it is, then," he declared and nodded at the bird. Then he did the next thing which Fleur was highly opposed to and let Hedwig out of the cage, giving her his address.

"I left a window open in the kitchen. Make yourself at home – just please, don't make too much of a mess." Hedwig hooted at him in a clear who-do-you-take-me-for manner and flew off. Harry stuffed the cage into his Bottomless Pocket and they went to Flourish and Blott's. Harry made it a point of honor to glare at any male who dared look at Fleur in a less than polite manner. Fleur, though she said nothing, seemed to appreciate his efforts.

In the bookstore, they dumped Gabrielle on Sirius - who accepted the burden with some complaint – and plunged deep between the bookshelves. Fleur, of course, forced him to only choose leather-bound editions. Harry thought, not for the first time, that it was good to be rich.

While hunting for a copy of 'Hogwarts: A History', they bumped – literally – into an energetic girl with bushy brown hair. Or rather, Harry bumped into her, because Fleur gracefully spun out of the way.

"Ah, sorry for that," Harry said, handing his books to Fleur, who shot him an icy glare, and bending to help the brown-haired girl collect hers. "I didn't see you…"

Her first words weren't what Harry would expect to hear in that kind of situation. "Your accent isn't quite British. Are you from abroad?"

"In a way, yeah," Harry replied. "My father parents were – I was born here – but I only came back recently. Mostly I lived in Panama. So I may sound differently, even though my adoptive father is as British as they come."

The girl scooped up her books and they both stood up. Harry moved quickly to prevent the books from falling again when she saw his face.

"You're Harry Potter!" she exclaimed.

"'Arry!" Fleur huffed. "Those books are heavy! Take them back."

Harry did and turned to the girl again. "Where are my manners. Yes, I happen to be the guy. That's my sister for all intents and purposes, Fleur Delacour. And you are?"

The girl shook her head and her eyes shrank back to normal from sickle-sized they had been moments before.

"Hermione – Hermione Granger."

"Nice to meet you, Hermione," Harry said. "Your middle name is the same as your first name? That's a little funny."

"What? Oh, no!" she said. "It's just Hermione. My middle name is – erm, well, it's something else."

Harry grinned. "With a first name like yours, I'll bet it's _something else."_

Hermione measured her next words carefully. Jokes, apparently, weren't something she was very fond of. _Doesn't like jokes,_ he noted mentally.

"So, Harry – you're going to Hogwarts, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said.

"What House do you think you'll be in?" she asked excitedly. Harry could feel Fleur grow steadily more thundercloud-ish behind him over being ignored.

"Hufflepuff," Harry said immediately. "Hufflepuffs rule the world from behind the scenes. Everyone knows that."

Hermione frowned. "But- Professor Dumbledore is a Gryffindor."

"Albus Dumbledore," Harry said, "is a very nice man, but he's just one man. Statistically, sixty per cent of all British Ministers of Magic were Hufflepuffs. And half of all the Chief Warlocks of the Wizengamot."

"You're interested in politics, then?" Hermione looked excited again.

"What?" Harry goggled at her. "Bah! No!"

"But you said- so what do you want to do?"

"Oh, nothing much. Find the Treasure Island. Commandeer the Flying Dutchman. Become the Junior Racing League champion in two weeks. Dominate the Dueling League when I join this year. Get the girl. Have adventures and spend my vast, vast fortune. And a few other things."

Hermione looked disappointed. "But you're _Harry_ _Potter. _The Boy Who Lived. Don't you want to do something… important?"

"Winning the Racing League championship is very important to me, Hermione," Harry said, sounding a bit miffed.

"'Arry!" Fleur interrupted, stomping her foot.

"Oh yeah," he muttered. "Look, Hermione, it was great talking to you, but I must dash. I still have to pick up some stuff and- that other thing. Ciao!" He quickly disappeared between the bookshelves, leaving Hermione behind feeling a bit disappointed. The famous Boy Who Lived didn't impress her as very heroic or ambitious. And she couldn't help thinking that his 'sister' didn't like her.

Suddenly, the stunning blonde girl came back, looked at her crossly and said, "I don't like you, mademoiselle Granger. You should know that." She then spun on her heel, throwing her hair back in a sweeping gesture and stalked off.

~~oOo~~

With the books resting in his Bottomless Pocket, Harry collected Sirius and Gabrielle and all four of them set out towards the wandmaker's shop. Harry didn't really want a third wand, especially one made by a wandmaker sanctioned by the British Ministry - the same guys who put the Trace on him, but Sirius insisted.

When they entered, Fleur made a great show of sneezing. "It's dusty in here." Gabrielle, as usual, mimicked her sister, sneezing as well.

Garrick Ollivander emerged from the shadows, observing them with his piercing grey eyes.

"Ah," he said softly. "Harry Potter. It is my pleasure."

"Hello," Harry said.

"And young Sirius Black. Oak, twelve inches, dragon heartstring. Rigid and powerful."

"Not quite twelve inches," Sirius confessed, "but rigid and powerful, oh yes. And I think there's something of a dragon in it-"

"_Sirius_!" Harry exclaimed once he understood what Sirius was talking about. "Too much information!"

Fleur looked appalled and instinctively backed off. Sirius looked remorseless. "He walked right into that one," he justified, pointing at Ollivander.

"And I believe you made a very similar joke twenty years ago," Ollivander said, both his face and voice completely blank. Harry couldn't tell if he felt offended. He shuffled away and came back with a fairly short wand.

"No," said Harry fiercely.

Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mister Potter, not the other way around."

"How long is it?" Harry asked.

"Seven and a half inches," the wandmaker informed him.

"I'm telling you that this wand won't choose this wizard," Harry decided. "In fact, I don't think any wand shorter than ten inches will choose this wizard. This wizard must maintain an image."

Fleur, the owner of a nine and quarter inch wand herself, rolled her eyes. "Of course. 'Arry needs a long wooden stick-"

"Please take that away," Harry put in, eyeing the short wand suspiciously.

Ollivander looked mildly conflicted, but put the wand away and instead took out an unusually long box.

"Willow," he announced. "Troll's heartstring. _Fourteen_ inches." Holding the wand in one hand, he pulled the tip to the side, bending the wand by a good angle. "Solid, and yet… _flexible_."

Sirius excused himself outside so that his howling wouldn't disturb them. Fleur looked on with a smirk and Gabrielle gave the wand an admiring glance. Harry's cheeks flushed, but he accepted the wand with as much dignity as he could muster. He waved it and the wand spewed out a few feeble white sparks that fell lazily to the floor; the wand trembled slightly in Harry's outstretched hand. Sirius, who had just returned, went back outside and leaned against the display window, holding his stomach.

Ollivander pursed his lips. "Not that one," he said and put it away.

He then handed Harry a thirteen and a half inch wand with a unicorn mane hair for the core. "_Sturdy_," he said, handing it to Harry.

Sirius had just opened the door. He saw the long wand Harry was holding, heard Ollivander say 'sturdy' and clapped a hand over his mouth, making stifled laughing sounds. Fleur's eyes glinted mischievously.

Harry jabbed the wand furiously at a shelf full of drawers, making them explode outward and litter the store with scraps of old yellow parchment. Ollivander tapped his chin in a thoughtful manner.

"Tsk, tsk. No match. A pity."

~~oOo~~

They left the wandmaker's shop sometime later, Harry with a new, eleven inch holly wand with a phoenix feather core and a creepy piece of trivia that it shared a brother core with Voldemort's wand. Sirius ignored that last remark in favor of grinning widely at Harry, who had tried out every wand in the store that was longer than his final match.

"You really put on a show, kid," he said, clapping Harry on the back with enough force to make him stumble forward.

"Ouch," Harry complained. "I'm unimaginably glad you enjoyed yourself." He then spun around to face Fleur, who was opening her mouth. "Don't," he warned her. "Just don't say it."

She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, cooing, "My poor 'Arry. I'm afraid it is not the last humiliation you will suffer."

"You mean like my older sister kissing my forehead in the middle of Diagon Alley?" Harry snapped.

Fleur just smiled beatifically and kept walking. Harry stormed ahead of them toward the Floo station.

Back at the apartment, Sirius raised an issue of Harry's upcoming birthday.

"Think about who you want to invite. And where you want the party to be."

That raised Harry's spirits a bit. He quickly gave a list of names – his two friends from the Racing League, Carmen's older brother Rodio, Fleur, Gabrielle (whom Harry planned to put to sleep as soon as the party was in full swing, like he always did) and asked Sirius if he knew any kind of nice place somewhere out in the country as they would probably want to do some racing. Sirius suggested The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.

"The village isn't very big, so you'll be able to fly with relative freedom. And you can show your friends your new school."

Harry agreed that it was as good idea as any and it was settled.

~~oOo~~

The Germans really went all out for this year's Grand Prix. The order in which they took place was randomly decided at the start of each season. Last year's finals had been held in France and were an enormous success as far as sports event went. Germans were not about to be outdone by their western neighbors.

The track had been planned in Harz mountains and featured such narrow straights that Harry suspected most of the action would take place in the corners, which didn't put him in a great mood. The point difference between him and Carmen meant that not only would he have to finish ahead of her to have a chance at the Grand Prix but he also couldn't finish lower than third place. Carmen would accept nothing less than the podium at worst, so effectively he would have to finish second and ahead of Carmen at the very least.

It didn't help matters that, because the track was even more turn-focused than the French Grand Prix, Kaiden Lynch won pole position again and Carmen snatched second place in the training session. Harry, starting from the third, couldn't afford to make a single mistake – he would have to overtake Carmen and then try and maybe get Lynch as well.

He had extended invitations to Elizer, Carmen and Rodio to his upcoming birthday party next Wednesday. Marco, as an early present, gave Harry a 'civilized' version of the new Coldstream model, which he and Elizer would ride in the Middle League next season.

Harry asked what 'civilized' was supposed to mean, exactly.

"It means the broom is equipped with the impervious charm, which in racing come with your goggles," Marco said.

Carmen wished him luck before the race and informed him that if he won the championship, he would not be getting another present from her.

On the day of the race Harry almost cried in joy – it was raining.

The heavy droplets were _pounding_. He glimpsed Lynch's sour face at the starting line – coming from a family with heavy quidditch ties, he was, as all quidditch players were, better conditioned to flying in good atmospheric conditions. Carmen looked none too happy either. Harry, however, was glowing. The rain presented a challenge, yes, but he always pushed himself through the most ridiculous rigors when it came to his race training. He and Sirius once spent an entire summer in Amazon, where it rained daily, weaving between the tall trees.

He couldn't tell why, but the more difficult the weather, the better he flew. Sirius claimed that Harry was just well-suited to performing under pressure. Harry wondered if there was a lewd sexual metaphor in that statement. Knowing Sirius, there probably was.

Harry took his place in the starting lineup. The red light overhead started blinking steadily. Then it turned to a blinking yellow.

Green snapped into place, the horn blew and he shot forward, flat against his broom.

~~oOo~~

Harry's victory high still lasted and was only reinforced when Wednesday rolled in and the clock ticked away the hours left to his birthday party.

When he arrived in Hogsmeade, he had to sprint into the Three Broomsticks cloaked and hooded – the village was crawling with the press, including international journalists. Harry supposed he knew what this was all about. Sirius had had another of his great ideas and leaked that his birthday party would be held in Hogsmeade, but didn't specify when or where exactly. There had been a lot of buzz around Harry lately. At the award ceremony for the International Racing League – all three Leagues ran parallel to each other and the ceremony presented trophies to all three champions – he'd had his pictures taken with a senior Coldstream teammate, Dominic Krosny, who had won the Middle League championship flying in black, blue and white. Marco had been all sly smiles and knowing glances in front of the cameras.

Carmen decided to give him a birthday present after all and kissed him in front of everyone. Well, it wasn't a hundred per cent proper kiss – she missed and kissed the corner of his mouth – but Harry grinned like an idiot anyway. Of course, someone went ahead and cooked up the story of a budding romance between two promising young racers.

Rita's mammoth of an article was published the next day, describing in some detail Harry's adventurous exploits. He'd found Sirius in Grimmauld Place seating on a sofa, hidden behind the Daily Prophet and giving bursts of cackling laughter approximately every minute.

To sum up, Harry had never been more famous than now.

He entered the Three Broomsticks to find out that all the lights were out. A hope rose in his attention-seeking heart…

"SURPRISE!" everyone yelled as the lights went on and a pumpkin-sized (and he was thinking _Hagrid's_ pumpkins, here) discoball at the ceiling started rotating, casting a myriad of colorful spots on every surface. Sirius' stereo and four fridge-sized speakers, specially warded and protected by magic-deflecting materials to work in magically saturated environments burst into life, spilling blearing music everywhere. Harry threw off his cloak and allowed himself to be pulled into the crowd. His friends were there and so were Etienne, Jasmine, Sirius and Remus, Rita, whom Harry actually rather liked, Hagrid and even Professor Dumbledore. He approached him with a formless package wrapped in silvery, sparkling paper.

"I wish you a very happy birthday, Harry," he said, smiling. "Also, I would ask you to open this," he tapped the package, "when you're alone."

Sirius and Remus took him aside and handed over a blank piece of parchment. Harry had never seen it before, but Sirius had told him stories about a certain very special parchment similar to this one, and he couldn't really think it was anything else. He didn't _want_ it to be anything else.

"No way," he gasped.

"All the way." Sirius grinned at him. "Filch found it in his archive and gave it Dumbledore, who caught Peter with it and then returned it to us. We think," he said, emphasizing 'we', "that you'll make a better use of it than we could now."

There was some restrained uncertainty on Remus' face, but he smiled anyway. "Just be careful, Harry."

He tucked the Marauders' Map away safely in his Bottomless Pocket.

"Thanks guys," he squeaked, overcome with sudden emotion, and hugged them both.

Harry noticed that Fleur was speaking quite pleasantly with Carmen. He guessed that not treating Carmen like she was trying to steal Harry anymore was Fleur's present.

Etienne and Jasmine approached him together and presented Harry with a small, silver key. Harry looked at it uncertainly.

"It's very nice," he said. "Should I wear it on a chain or something?"

"'Arry," Jasmine then said. "We have decided that you won't be sleeping in guest bedrooms at the Chateau anymore."

"The girls love you like a brother," Etienne continued. "And you've become important to us as well – even if perhaps we don't see each quite as often as we'd like."

"This is the key to your own room," Jasmine explained. "When you visit next, I'll make some time and help you decorate."

Harry didn't say anything because he didn't trust his voice not to sound as if he had juts breathed in helium. The elder Delacours must have caught that, because Jasmine kissed him on the cheeks – Harry blushed, despite his best efforts not to – and said, "You're welcome, 'Arry. Happy birthday."

"I'm getting kissed a lot lately," he managed at last.

"Objectively speaking, amico, you are very kissable," said a familiar voice from behind him.

"Lizzy!" Harry exclaimed, pulling his friend into an embrace.

"This is for you," Elizer said.

Harry tore the present open eagerly. It was a set of body armor, but it looked somewhat different from typical racing gear.

"This is a quidditch set," Elizer explained. "I heard it's the preferred sport at your new school, so I thought you might need it. I doubt you'll be able to stay away from the pitch with no racing events nearby."

Rodio, Carmen's older brother, who would be starting his third year at the El Dorado Academy of Magic in September and who was, like his sister, taller than most people his age, shook Harry's hand and said, "I have decided not to introduce you to our family pack of nundus for kissing my sister."

Harry gulped. He and Rodio were on friendly terms, but he was very protective of Carmen. And his family really kept a pack of nundus.

"Thanks, mate," Harry said earnestly.

"Just be nice to Carmen and we'll see about a real present next year," Rodio said with a grin and went to get his guitar. Carmen then appeared out of nowhere and purred, "I know you can dance, Harry, but only old, European dances. Your salsa is horrible."

Rodio hopped onto a table and yelled to Sirius to change to another track on the stereo. When latino sounds started coming from the speaker, Rodio struck the guitar strings and Carmen pulled Harry to the middle of the dancefloor.

After a few Butterbeers, Harry magnanimously gave Rita his permission to write a piece for the society page about the party if she wanted. Rita smiled at him brilliantly. "You're such a darling, Harry."

His head starting to swim, Harry felt it was time for a race. Sirius had promised and placed a series of hoops around the lakeshore and through the middle, forming a big, irregular eight. The entire crowd filed out of the bar and, joined by the roaming press, gathered at the edge of the Black Lake. Sirius gave Harry, Carmen and Elizer charmed armbands.

"Monitoring spells," he said and pointed to three large screens he had erected. The racers mounted their brooms – Harry and Elizer on Coldstreams and Carmen on a sleek Lightning – and flew to the hoop that marked the starting line.

"The lake is quite big," Sirius said. "So you fly ten laps. The track is easy, you won't need a scouting lap. Just watch for the hoops. They glow, by the way."

Harry grinned at Elizer and waggled his eyebrows at Carmen.

"On my mark!" Sirius yelled, raising his wand. "Three…"

The screens flickered into life.

"Two-one!"

~~oOo~~

Harry regarded the vaguely familiar surroundings with unfocused gaze.

"What the hell?" he asked no one in particular.

"This is the Hogwarts infirmary, Harry," Sirius said in conspiratorial tones from his right. "But keep it down. _She's_ around here, somewhere." He peeked out from behind the curtain screen. "_Lurking_."

"Who is?" Carmen whispered the question, intrigued.

"You saw her yesterday," Sirius explained.

"He means the nurse," Harry chimed in. "She flavors all medicinal potions awfully so people are discouraged from getting into situations where they need to take them again. And on that note – I really need some orange juice. I can feel a terrible taste in my mouth."

"That would be Skele-Gro," Sirius explained, flinching with disgust.

"Huh? Why?" Harry demanded. "What did I need to grow?"

"You don't remember?" Carmen asked. There was an undertone of concern in her voice. "You were corkscrewing through a hoop near some trees and-"

"You reflexes weren't as sharp as usual," Sirius picked up the story. "What with all the Butterbeer you drank. So, you kind of… bumped… into the hoop."

Harry squinted at him. "Tell me."

"You went into a spin… and then you went into a tree," Sirius finished lamely.

"I will never let you ride anything faster than a Tailsweep 50 when you've had drinks," Carmen declared with conviction. Harry gazed at her dreamily.

"I love it when you're possessive like that," he informed her.

"Oh, be quiet," Carmen glared at him. "I was worried. You're an idiot, Harry."

Harry scowled at her pitifully.

Carmen squeezed his hand. "But you're my idiot."

"You're our idiot," Sirius corrected. "You're lucky it was just an arm and a leg, so you were only out for one night."

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked.

"The Delacours are staying in a hotel in Hogsmeade," Sirius said. "Rita had to get back to London. Dumbledore invited Rodio and Elizer to stay the night in the castle. Remus is here too."

"Hey," Harry remembered something. "Who won? The race, I mean."

"Well," Sirius began, "you hit the second to last hoop, but Carmen was at the front when you crashed, so I suppose she did."

Harry gave a whistling gasp. "What happened to my _broom_?"

Sirius looked apologetic. "The strengthening charms have their limits, kid. It's been reduced to matchsticks."

"Don't worry," Carmen said soothingly. "Elizer called his father on the Floo. He agreed to replace it, but he also said that if you ever ride a Coldstream in less than alert state, he'll kick you off the team. He loves his brooms, senor Agrattsi."

"I solemnly swear never to ride a Coldstream broom under influence. Of anything," Harry vowed, ceremonially placing a hand over his heart and raising the other. Carmen and Sirius exchanged looks.

"How long do you give that oath?" Sirius asked.

"A month?"

"Just don't crash on that broom again, Harry. What Marco doesn't know won't hurt him."

Harry grimaced. "I need to pee."

"Let me check," Sirius said and peeked outside the curtain again. "Coast is clear. She's in her office."

Harry stalked over to the infirmary bathroom. When he was leaving, he opened the door and came face to face with the Evil Queen of Medicine wearing a serious expression and holding a bottle of some murky liquid.

"Time for your potion, Mister Potter," Poppy Pomfrey announced.

Harry shrieked and shut the door in her face.

It took Sirius' intervention to get him to come out. He felt conflicted, coaxing his godson into submitting himself to Madam Pomfrey's ministrations, but she gave him the kind of look that made people obey her instructions.

In the end, Harry swallowed a dose of Skele-Gro, promised not to touch a broom for a week – knowing he would break that promise – and washed down the horrid taste with some more orange juice. They left the infirmary and a passing ghost tipped them off that Dumbledore was giving Rodio and Elizer and Fleur a tour of the castle and that they were in the courtyard.

"-since it was a Bottomless Pit, it couldn't be filled with debris, so Headmaster Black ordered it built over and because the stoneworkers who had been hired to do the job botched it up and the middle of the courtyard was uneven, the Headmaster built over _that_ and commissioned the fountain," Professor Dumbledore finished.

"Hello, Headmaster," Sirius said and waved. "You're telling them about the Bottomless Pit under the fountain?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "Good morning, Harry."

"Idiota," Rodio said, but in a way that indicated he was actually a little worried.

"Amico, how are you?" Elizer moved toward him, arms outstretched. Fleur beat him to it.

"'Arry!" she cried and flung himself at him. "You silly boy." She hugged him and released him to Elizer, who held him a bit longer than manly hug rules allowed, but Harry let him. Fleur and Elizer spent a good minute fussing over him, especially his hair, which was even shaggier today than on most days.

"I'm alright, really," he assured, but he was thankful nevertheless. "You are the best friends anyone could ask for. Even Rodio."

"Sure, amigo." Rodio winked at him.

"I always say," Harry remarked, "if you fail, fail spectacularly."

"I'd say crashing into a tree at about a hundred miles per hour was pretty spectacular," Sirius agreed.

"He _broke_ the tree," Elizer pointed out. Harry stared at him disbelievingly.

"It was a small tree. But you did break it."

"You made the front page, Harry," Dumbledore added, pulling out a morning Prophet from his robes.

Harry scrutinized the title.

_CELEBRATION ENDS IN DRAMA_

Underneath was a photo detailing the moment of the crash. He observed, in slow motion, himself bouncing off of the hoop and veering into a nearby, indeed quite young tree, breaking it in half, hitting _another_ tree and disappearing off the photograph. In the background, the broom shattered, caught between two sturdier trunks. The annotation under the picture read "photograph by Z. Bozo".

"It's not as bad as it looks, kiddo," Sirius assured him. "Rita wrote the article and it's actually quite nice. Pictures you as a fun-loving, manly, Marauder-"

~~oOo~~

Many miles away, in a dark, cold, but elegant manor, Draco Malfoy complained over the Prophet article, "Why do I never get to have a real birthday party, father? Potter does."

Lucius glared at his son furiously. "Eat your cereal, Draco and be quiet."

"Potter flies a Coldstream racing broom," Draco pointed out. "I should have a racing broom, father, in case I need to race against Potter. It could happen, father."

Lucius let out a great, shuddering breath. Narcissa slapped her son gently upside the head.

"Eat your breakfast, darling and stop upsetting your father."

~~oOo~~

In the Burrow, Fred and George sat hidden behind a copy of the Daily Prophet, poring over the article detailing Harry Potter's birthday party. Ron, who could, from his place at the table, see the front page, died a little bit inside every time the picture replayed Potter's fantastically expensive racing broom crashing into the trees.

Upstairs, Ginny was busy tearing her Teen Witch Weekly into pieces so small they couldn't be torn anymore, the snapshot of that Carmen girl _kissing_ Harry Potter in front of cameras at the Racing League Award Ceremony burning vividly in her memory.

~~oOo~~

In a small, gloomy house at the end of Spinner's End, Severus Snape sat in his comfy armchair, the Daily Prophet trembling in his hands. Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts and he was all Snape expected the son of James Potter to be, and _more_.

"GRRrwrrghrrwwrgrr…"

~~oOo~~

In her perfectly tidy room, consisting entirely of elegant, straight angles and featuring no curved surfaced whatsoever, Hermione Granger frowned a little as she read the Prophet article.

That Harry Potter seemed like he would be a very disruptive influence on Hogwarts' academic routine. Hermione hoped they wouldn't be Sorted into the same House.

~~oOo~~

Somewhere in an easily defensible position in his well-warded house, Alastor Moody dispatched the seventeenth Postal Service owl this month as it swooped in through his chimney (which, being an entry point, was especially heavily warded and booby-trapped; if the owl had gotten through, it must have been a Dark minion and had to be dispatched, obviously) and cautiously picked up the morning edition of today's Daily Prophet.

"I see what you did there…" he muttered to the moving photograph.


	6. CHAPTER SIX: Close Encounters, part 2

**CHAPTER SIX: Close Encounters Of The Wizard-kind, part 2**

On the first of September Harry entered the platform 9 ¾ escorted by Sirius, at five minutes to eleven. The red steam engine was already puffing out white smoke.

Sirius looked down at hid godson, swelling with pride. He was proud of Harry, because he was such a fine young man and a Marauder to boot, and proud of himself, because he managed to keep Harry alive and relatively safe until he went to school and everybody always said that Sirius was so irresponsible he wouldn't have been able to take care of a rubber duck.

"Harry James Potter," he pronounced. "This is a _profound_ moment."

"So it is," Harry said.

"You're beginning the next stage in your life," Sirius added, sounding appropriately dignified. "You are the first of the new generation of Marauders." Sirius paused. "Hold your head high. Torment Snape. And paint the Slytherin common room pink."

"What if I get Sorted into Slytherin?"

"Then you can deny everything," Sirius beamed. "Slytherins wouldn't suspect one of their own. But don't if you can. Get Sorted there, I mean."

"You're right," Harry agreed.

"Hey, kid!" a conductor yelled at him. "Everyone's boarded already! You coming or not?"

Harry hugged Sirius briefly and got on the train. He tapped the trunk with his new, holly wand and activated the Mobilicorpus enchantment. The trunk started floating an inch above the floor and would follow him around. Harry opened the nearest window and let Hedwig out of her cage.

"I'll see you in Hogwarts, girl." Hedwig hooted affirmatively and flew out. Harry hid her cage in his Bottomless Pocket and went in search of a seat.

He stopped short at the door of a compartment that was already occupied by someone. Having arrived so late he doubted there were any free ones left, so he'd have to join someone anyway.

In the compartment were two identically looking boys that looked a bit older than him and a dark-skinned boy with dreadlocks, showing off a hairy tarantula the size of both his hands. The giant arachnid sat in his lap and seemed to be consuming a meat pie.

Harry swung the door open and struck a dignified pose. "Gentlemen," he said. "Might there be a place for a lone firstie?"

All three looked at him. The dark-skinned boy looked uncertain, but twins' – they looked like twins, anyway – faces lit up.

"My, my," said one.

"I know what you mean, dear brother," said the other.

"Isn't that him?"

"It sure looks like him."

"The hair…

"…the scar…"

"…glasses…"

Harry's head whipped from to the other. "How do you guys _do_ that?" he asked, somewhat intrigued.

Their grins grew even wider. "It's just…"

"…that thing we do…

"…it's a secret…

"…but we can tell you…"

"…unless you're hiding a twin somewhere…"

"…we're afraid you can't learn that."

"It's a twin thing, you see," said one of them.

"Introductions are in order. I'm Gred and this is Forge."

"I'm the handsome one," Forge added.

"And I'm the intelligent one," Gred retorted. "That's something my slightly better looking but an order of magnitude less brilliant brother often forgets."

"Gred and Forge?" Harry repeated. "Those are… unusual names."

"They're Fred and George, actually," the dreadlock guy supplied. "I'm Lee Jordan."

"Harry Potter," Harry introduced himself, despite them obviously knowing his name already, because it was the polite thing to do. He shook all their hands.

"Fred…"

"…and George Weasley."

Harry frowned. "I really can't tell you guys apart. What if I get your names wrong?"

Lee rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"Our own mother gets our names wrong, young friend," said Fred or George.

"We don't mind – everybody does that," added George or Fred.

"If you're sure," said Harry, feeling unsure.

"We've been looking forward to meeting you, Harry," said Fred. Or George.

"It's my pleasure. You seem like brilliant chaps," Harry said and smiled. He turned to Lee. "And let me say, that is one kick-ass tarantula. I only saw bigger ones in the Amazon, but those aren't really pet material because they tend to trap and eat humans. They were cross-breeds with Acromantulas."

"Thanks," Lee beamed at him. "I haven't had Gordon for long and most people just say he's big and ugly. And scary," he added woefully.

Harry looked at Gordon the Giant Tarantula. "Well, he _is_ big and scary – I certainly wouldn't want to wake up and see him on my pillow. No offense, Gordon," he said to the spider, "but I think I might get a heart attack and I'm too young to die. But saying he's ugly… I've seen some ugly beasts and Gordon is just gorgeous in comparison." Harry _really_ wanted to get on Gordon's good side.

The spider suddenly leapt from Lee's lap to Harry's chest and hung there, big and scary.

"GAHHHH!" Harry yelped. "Gordon, please… you scared me shitless, buddy."

Gordon tapped one of his long, segmented legs against his chest and jumped back to Lee. "Gordon tell me you're okay," Lee informed him. Harry, encouraged, extended a hand a stroked Gordon gently.

"I think you and Hedwig will make great friends, Gordon."

"Who's Hedwig?" George – or Fred – asked.

"My owl. She hates being caged up, so I told her to meet me at Hogwarts."

"So, Harry, you're a broom racer," said one of the twins. "But have you ever played quidditch? There's a Quidditch Cup every year at Hogwarts, you know."

"We're Beaters for the Gryffindor team."

"I've played some pick-up games," Harry admitted. "I'm a decent Chaser. Better than average, I'd say."

"Sadly, first years aren't allowed to try out for the teams, but you should definitely try next year."

"Oh, I will," Harry agreed. "I can't go seven years of school without _some_ kind of broom sport."

"From what the Prophet said, you sound like a swell guy," Lee said. "We'd be happy to have you in Gryffindor."

"You guys are Gryffindors? Nice. I'd have hated it if the first people I met on the were Slytherins."

All three grinned at him.

"Harry," said the twins in unison. "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

"I certainly hope so," Harry said. "I'll need help if I'm to paint the Slytherin commons pink."

Fred and George wend wide-eyed. "The last guys who did that were the Marauders," Fred or George breathed.

Harry grinned with fiendish glee. "Oh… you must mean Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs." Harry had decided to separate the persons of Wormtail, who had been a Marauder and Peter Pettigrew, who sold his parents out to Voldemort.

The twins were positively buzzing now.

"Well," Harry said, leaning back comfortably. "Let me tell you a story of four friends…"

~~oOo~~

Harry spent the journey to school in the pleasant company of the twins, Lee and Gordon. Time flew by and the landscape turned wilder and darker as they drew closer to Hogwarts. They were interrupted three times.

First time, it was a nice older lady with a trolley packed full of sweets, so Harry didn't mind. They all bought something to munch on and Lee bought a pumpkin pastry for Gordon, who was, apparently, a fan of meat pies first and pumpkins second.

The second time it was Hermione Granger, the Girl Who Didn't Like Jokes, and Harry was somewhat irritated when she interrupted him in the middle of his tale of the octopus in a hotel pool in Las Vegas.

"Have you seen a toad, by any chance?" she asked. "Neville's lost one."

"We have, actually," Harry told her politely. "It went that way," he pointed. They had indeed spotted a toad of Gordon-ish proportions hopping down the hall minutes earlier. While Gordon was really quite cool, Harry couldn't fathom why anyone would want an enormous toad for a pet.

"Thank you, Harry," she said and hurried off.

"You know each other?" Lee asked.

"We've met, briefly, in a bookstore."

Fred waggled his eyebrows. "Oh, a bookstore, was it? There are all kinds of stories that begin that way. Boy meets girl in a bookstore-"

"I'll have you know," Harry interrupted, "that I am already… kind of… committed."

"Would that be the lovely broom racer Miss Huertez?" George questioned, recalling an article from Illustrated Sports.

"Should I be worried that you guys seem to know every bit of gossip about me there is?" Harry said with a frown.

The twins waved it off in a synchronized gesture. "You were in every magazine imaginable recently," one said. "I think everyone who can read knows that."

The third time they were interrupted by that pale, skinny git, Draco Malfoy. He was flanked by two heavily built boys.

"I've heard you were in this compartment, Potter," Malfoy drawled. "And with Weasleys, too. How many of you are there, exactly?"

"Seven," Fred said instantly. "Excluding mum and dad, of course."

Malfoy pursed his lips. "It's very sad, Potter, that you sit here with them. We haven't had a great start, but I'm willing to put it behind us."

"You mean that time when I stuffed your nostrils with ice-cream?" Harry sneered. "Yeah, that was fun. I seem to recall you called my mum a mudblood. Not the best way to win my affections."

"Whoops. Bad move, Malfoy."

"Say, Draco," Harry purred. "Has anyone ever told you that you a have a face like a rodent?"

The twins and Lee shook in soundless laughter and Malfoy's pale cheeks flushed with a bright pink.

"_I_ _know_ it was you and your godfather that stole my father's library," he spat, switching tactics. "And we will prove it. And then you'll regret ever refusing my offer of friendship."

"You can take your offer, Malfoy and stick it up ass," Harry told him in a bored tone. "Now remove yourself from our compartment, or we'll ask Gordon to deal with you. He _eats_ rodents, you know. Don't you, Gordon?" he asked the spider, who raised the front pair of legs and rubbed them against each other in a way eerily reminiscent of a chef sharpening knives.

Defeated and outwitted, Malfoy stalked off, followed by his square-shaped sidekicks.

"Did you really?"

"Did I really what?"

"Rob Lucius Malfoy?"

Harry looked up, trying to appear innocent. "I can neither confirm or deny that claim. But," he added, "it's something a Marauder could do."

The twins needed to more explanations. Fred – or George, possibly – looked at him with admiration. "Where have you been all my life?"

~~oOo~~

There was a moment of uncomfortable awkwardness when Harry changed into his expensive, tailored school robes, but his new friends told him not to worry about. Harry was grateful for that. He'd spent most of his life to date around people who could, most of the time, be described as 'well off' at the least. It struck him that for someone as used to living in luxury as he was, Hogwarts could well turn out to be a severe culture shock. Oh, he'd spent a lot of time camping out in the wild, but the tents were always equipped as a small but comfortable apartment, so it didn't count.

_Well,_ he thought, _it'll be a novel experience, this academic lifestyle._

He parted ways with Fred, George, Lee and Gordon at the platform. They marched toward the carriages while Harry moved in the river of bodies towards Hagrid, who yelled at the first years to follow him.

"Everybody present? Then let's go!"

He led them along a stone path among the trees to a small harbor, where boats awaited them.

"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid bellowed and sat in the first one.

Harry's sixth sense detected, with pinpoint accuracy, a duo of pretty girls and set his body on course.

"Ladies," he greeted them. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me on the journey to that castle over there?"

They giggled and blushed. One of them, of Indian descent, called for her sister.

_TWINS,_ Harry's brain registered. Well, he wasn't officially committed to Carmen, not yet…

He took a boat with the three of them and engaged in polite conversation.

At one point during the trip, Hagrid spotted something and yelled, "First years! Say hello to Doug!"

"Doug? Doug who?" someone asked, looking around.

"Doug's our local giant squid!"

There were some shrieks at that revelation. Harry, in particular, felt that his eardrums really did not deserve such abuse. "Hi, Doug!" He yelled at the squid. "I'll come by sometime! I'll bring apples!"

Doug acknowledged his words with a deep rumble, raised one of his tentacles and waved it about.

"Doug really likes apples," he informed the girls, still recovering from a fright.

Soon, they reached the castle harbor and spilled out onto the shore. Harry noticed with satisfaction that Padma, Parvati and Lavender, were the girls' names, seemed impressed that he knew Doug and appreciated his attention. Harry instinctively checked if his holly wand was in the holster on his right forearm. The other two wands were stashed, along with plethora of other objects, in his Mobile Bottomless Pocket.

Hagrid led them through the courtyard and into the Entrance Hall, where the stern-looking Deputy Headmistress was awaiting them.

"Hi, Professor McGonagall." Harry greeted her.

"First years, as Harry said, this is Professor McGonagall," Hagrid made the introduction.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she said. "And good evening, Mister Potter."

Harry noted, with some satisfaction, Hermione's envy look when Professor McGonagall returned his greeting. The Deputy Headmistress spoke briefly about The Four Houses of Hogwarts and the qualities they valued in their members. A cavalcade of ghosts passing by caused quite a stir, giving the muggleborn students yet another shock after Doug.

"Ah, young Mister Potter! I do hope you've had a pleasant journey!" Nearly Headless Nick said jovially.

"It was great, Sir Nicholas, thanks."

Hermione, the Girl Who Didn't Like Jokes, openly glared at him.

"In a few moments," Professor McGonagall continued, "you will walk through this door and into the Great Hall of Hogwarts, where you will be Sorted into your Houses. You House will be your family during your time here. With your Housemates, you will earn points for your accomplishments and lose points for your transgressions. The House with the most points at the end of the year will win the House Cup."

Harry's brain only registered a few words from the entire speech. 'Points', 'House' and 'Cup'. Immediately, he recalled the first rule of the Marauder Code: 'avoid getting caught if possible. Even better – heap the blame on someone else. Preferably a slimy Slytherin'.

_I'll make you proud, dad, I promise,_ Harry thought with nostalgia. _You two mum, I mean – goes without saying,_ he added as an afterthought. Sirius always told him he was more like James than Lily.

Then the double doors to the Great Hall opened before them and they entered.

It was a breathtaking view – Harry had seen the Great Hall earlier, even lit with thousands of candles, but seeing it full of students and with Professor Dumbledore in his high-backed chair at the High Table, it looked infinitely more impressive. The sky-ceiling was dotted with stars.

Fred, George and Lee, with Gordon on his shoulder, waved at him from the Gryffindor table. Harry waved back and grinned. Hermione, upon finding out that Harry had apparently already befriended some older students gave a short low growl and pointedly looked the other way. Harry shrugged it off and ignored her, turning his attention to the Sorting Hat's song and Professor McGonagall, who had a scroll in her hands. When the song ended, Professor McGonagall unrolled the scroll.

"When I read out your name, put on the Sorting Hat and sit on the stool. When you are Sorted, you may join your Housemates at the table."

And so began the Sorting. Harry had wrung the information on how it was done from Sirius and wasn't really nervous. He wasn't a shy person and had no difficulties facing crowds. He noticed a boy next to him who looked like he was trying very hard to be invisible. It was kind of working.

"Hello there, mate," Harry whispered. "Nervous?" He didn't look like Slytherin material, so Harry decided he could help him out.

"Y-yeah," the boy stammered slightly. "I'm Neville Longbottom, by the way."

_Neville Longbottom?_ Harry thought. _Looks like I have a new Marauder apprientice._ He remembered what Sirius had told him about the Longbottoms – the Marauders had been good friends with them during and after their Hogwarts years.

"Harry Potter," Harry said with a brilliant grin and offered a hand, which Neville took and gave a feeble shake. "Your father used to be an Auror during the war, right? I've been told he was one of the best." Well, he wasn't exaggerating. That was what Sirius had told him.

"Yeah," Neville said and gave a faint smile. "He was."

"About the Sorting, Nev, you'll do fine. Just… forget that there are any people here."

"That won't work," Neville said. "I can't stand it when people stare at me…"

"Then imagine them all in underwear," Harry went with the widely acknowledged way of dealing with crowds. "That one never fails. But don't try too hard," he added when Neville shut his eyes and concentrated. "Just relax. Think about the muggleborn students. They must be feeling even worse than you are."

Neville looked around and spotted one or two people that were actually green in the face. Harry supposed if feeling a bit _schadenfreude_ would help Neville, then there was no harm in it.

"Longbottom, Neville!" Professor McGonagall called. Harry clapped Neville on the back. "Show them, mate."

Neville breathed in deeply and there was obvious confidence in his step. Well, more confidence than he'd had a minute ago.

"That was very nice of you, Harry," Parvati whispered in his ear.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat bellowed deafeningly. Neville hurried over to the Gryffindor table, which exploded with applause. Harry grinned at him as he passed by.

Both Parvati and Padma joined Lavender at the Gryffindor table and then it was Harry's turn. He walked up to the stool and put the Hat on.

_Hmm,_ Harry heard a voice in his head. _Harry Potter._

_Hi,_ he thought back.

_This, next to Mr. Malfoy, might be the easiest Sorting tonight._

_Really?_

_You meet all the criteria – courage, arrogance, recklessness, distinct dislike for the members of Slytherin House. Since your late father, Harry Potter, I haven't Sorted a more obvious _GRYFFINDOR!

That last word, the Hat bellowed loudly and House of the Brave flew into a frenzy. Hermione, The Girl Without Sense Of Humor, sighed with relief from the Ravenclaw table.

Harry forgot to take Hat off in the eager rush to join his Housemates and had to go return to the stool, eliciting laughs from all four tables, though only Slytherins' were vicious and mocking.

"Whoops. My bad," Harry said and grinned, showing off his perfectly even and blindingly white teeth before taking a seat between the Patils, opposite Neville. His face was hurting from the amount of grinning he'd done today, but he couldn't help but carry on with it.

Professor Dumbledore then stood up and delivered a welcoming speech, laying out the basic rules, like the fact that the Forbidden Forest was named so for a reason (Harry made a mental note to explore the Forbidden Forest thoroughly during the school year) and that the third floor corridor was out of bounds, on pain of _death_.

The only thing he could have done to encourage Harry even more would be to slap a great blinking red neon at the entrance to the corridor saying 'HERE BE DANGER AND ADVENTURES'. Harry drew his eagle feather and his Very Secret Journal from the Bottomless Pocket and scribbled at the top of a new entry:

EXPLORE THE FORBIDDEN FOREST

INVESTIGATE THE THIRD FLOOR CORRIDOR

The he thought for a moment and added:

TEACH NEVILLE THE WAYS OF MARAUDERS

It was decided. Neville Longbottom would be the new Sirius to his James.

"What is that, Harry?" Padma asked. "Oh? Is that some kind of runic language? Are you taking secret notes?"

"Not precisely. Well, I _am_ taking secret notes, but these aren't runes." He knew that it looked like squiggles to other people. To him, it looked like English.

Being a Parselmouth had its perks.

Dumbledore finished his speech in a wholly unexpected manner.

"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

Harry, feeling suddenly inspired by the Headmaster, got to his feet and started clapping. Fred and George followed his example, setting off a chain reaction and within moments everyone but Slytherins, who only clapped politely sitting down, was giving the Headmaster a thunderous applause.

"Thank you, thank you." Dumbledore calmed the applause down. "And now, let us feast!"

Suddenly the tables were spilling with a multitude of delicious looking foods. Harry noticed a tray of meat pies and waved at where Lee and the twins were seated.

"Gordon! Over here!"

There wasn't apparently, a single Gordon in Gryffindor and a few people looked around in confusion. Then Gordon emerged, climbing from Lee's lap onto the table and reached the meat pies in two great leaps.

"There you go, buddy," Harry said, offering the spider a separate plate with two meat pies on it.

Gordon, the big, scary tarantula that he was, caused several of the less courageous boys and all the girls in proximity to shriek and attempt to move as far away as possible. Parvati practically climbed into Harry's lap. Harry wasn't opposed to it. Lee and the twins showed him thumbs up and gleeful grins.

"Good one, Harry!"

Gordon devoured one pie and then clutched the other with his powerful jaws before returning to Lee. Harry noted that despite that, Parvati hasn't left his lap. He also noted that Lavender was casting her friend envious glances from her seat next to Neville.

Harry didn't mind it when Parvati started feeding him chicken. He rather liked chicken.

After the main courses, the tables cleared out and dessert appeared. Harry asked Parvati to grab some lemon and caramel-flavored ice-cream. At some point, Harry noticed Hermione looking at him with disgust from the Ravenclaw table. He also noticed Professor Snape giving him much the same kind of look from the High Table. It was easy enough to recognize Snape – Sirius had described him as 'the slimiest person in any room' and claimed that Snape must be unaware there existed something like shampoo. Only one person fit that description.

Malfoy was also glaring at him passionately from across the Hall. Harry decided to ignore them all in favor of Parvati's attention.

As the feast ended, Harry felt warm and fuzzy inside. All in all, this had been a great day.

He hardly listened to the Prefect that led them to the Gryffindor Tower, only paying attention to the password and the information on which side the boys' dormitories were located.

In his dormitory, Harry acquainted himself with the other three boys that had been Sorted into Gryffindor tonight. Dean Thomas was muggleborn, had artistic inclinations and was a football fan. Seamus, whose mum was a witch and dad was a muggle, revealed his interest in pyrotechnics. Ron, the twins' younger brother, was a sucker for quidditch, but didn't mind broom racing. He was horrified when Harry told him that he thought the very idea of the Snitch and Seekers was completely stupid. He refused to talk to Harry after that. Harry shrugged and engaged Neville in a conversation, sharing some of the more exciting memories of his encounters with hostile plantlife.

Harry finally went to sleep around midnight, collapsing without changing out of his robes.

It was going to be a busy year.


End file.
